


Heat Forged

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Series: Heat Wave [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha!Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bonding, Canon Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Domestic Avengers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Happy Ending, Jewelry, Kittens, M/M, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Mpreg, OC, Omega!Bucky, Partially Clothed Sex, Switching, Tattoos, Temporary Amnesia, Time Travel, Water Sex, characters ridiculously in love, happy endings are never smooth, references to past forced bonds, references to past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 159,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: Sequel to Heat Stroke: not a stand alone fic.Steve and Bucky have bonded, fallen further in love, and are learning to live together in Avengers Tower. Everything is wonderful, until it isn’t any more. Once again they have to overcome all obstacles set before them to keep their family intact





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All hail our beta, [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile). OBEY THE GLOW CLOUD!

Tony tilted back his chair, flicking his fingers up to move the holographic display along his line of sight. The chunk of rock - Chunky as Tony lovingly referred to it - was completely unremarkable. A few squiggles, some writing, and it didn’t do anything. Far, far less interesting than most anything Steve had ever brought for him to play with. That Tony blamed on Barnes. Steve had all but moved into Barnes’ room, coming out to play with less frequency than before they’d bonded. He’d probably brought back something boring because he was thinking too much about his new bondmate.

Honestly, Tony was happy for Steve. He’d finally gotten an Omega that would take care of him, despite his tendencies to throw himself into the direct path of danger. Still, he wished Steve had picked someone more…sane. Barnes wasn’t a bad guy, now that he was honestly trying not to be an asshole all the time, but he wasn’t what anyone would call stable. Some of the shouting matches between Steve and him had been heard between floors. It didn’t seem healthy. Tony and Pepper had had their fare share of fights - who didn't? - but Steve and Bucky were lovey-dovey and locked up in Barnes’ room one moment, and moping sadly all over the whole tower the next. Mostly Steve was doing the moping, whenever Barnes fucked off to god-knows-where.

Clicking his tongue, Tony had to admit he wasn’t _completely_ bored. Chunky absorbed sound waves so he couldn’t do a sonogram on it. If he’d ever had such a need. He couldn’t imagine _why_ he’d need to do one, they were so low tech. Just like Barnes. Barnes, who owned only burner phones, ancient ones, too, so old they needed a cable to connect to a computer! No bluetooth, no RDS, no Wi-Fi. Nothing. The man was so low-tech he’d probably demand pen and paper to take notes. 

Only Clint, of all people, had his number. Clint? Tony could understand Steve, the guy Bucky was bonded to, but _he_ didn’t even have it. Hell, Tony could have understood if Bucky had decided to share it with Natasha, the other scary super-spy among them, but she didn’t have it either. Just their resident bumbling archer. 

Unlike Barnes, who was so infuriating it made Tony itch, Chunky was a puzzle. A fascinating, interesting puzzle that couldn’t hurt a fly. Well, unless he smashed a fly with it. Blunt weapons were very effective. Barnes would know, he _was_ a blunt weapon, and weapons didn’t have feelings like normal people. Sooner or later, Barnes was going to hurt Steve, of that Tony was sure. 

Barnes’ latest pattern was just leaving Steve alone, which wouldn’t have been much of a problem except then Steve bounced from Avenger to Avenger, trying to distract himself. He was taking extra jobs, the vacation practically pointless. Tony realized that really wasn’t Barnes’ fault, but the guy was _supposed_ to take care of Steve, not leave the rest of them to it. 

It wasn’t Tony’s job to police Steve’s relationships, though. What _was_ his job was keeping Steve safe, and Barnes Was Not Helping. Basically for Tony, it boiled down to security. Steve had enemies, powerful enemies that didn’t always play by the rules. They all had them, really. So, Tony had done his best to gather all the Avengers in the tower, the most secure place he could think of. JARVIS played a big role in that security, and Barnes, because of his irrational dislike of JARVIS, was putting them in danger. It also seemed unfair that Steve so easily cut himself off from his most obvious safety net just because his mate asked him to. Couldn’t he have asked Bucky to move in with him?

Apparently that was too much to ask, and Bucky had ignored all Tony’s request to re-initiate security on his floor.

That left exactly one recourse.

The doors to his workshop opened and Tony looked over to find Steve, all open, warm smiles. Happy, because someone wanted him around when Barnes was out. Again. Tony swept the data off his holograms and turned to his other Alpha.

“You wanted to see me, Tony?” Steve asked.

“Capsicle! Great, okay.” Tony swept to his feet and clapped Steve on the shoulder, leading him to a more uncluttered part of his workshop. “Listen, we really need to talk about tower security.”

Steve’s brow furrowed.

“Has there been a breach?”

“Not _yet_ ,” Tony admitted, “but that’s why we need to jump on this thing.”

“Okay,” Steve said, taking the seat on the couch shoved up against the wall when Tony indicated, “So what’s the problem?”

Tony hesitated, knowing Steve didn’t want to hear this.

“Your squeeze. No, hang on,” Tony protested as Steve developed “thunder brows”, glared at him and opened his mouth. “Just listen, okay? I’ve got a giant blind spot in my security systems. I don’t know what’s happening on that entire floor, and it’s because Barnes won’t let JARVIS monitor anything.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Steve said stubbornly, folding his arms in front of himself, making the already impressive muscles bulge even more. Something in Tony twitched, in simple male envy.

“I am well aware, Captain Obvious,” Tony snapped, “and I was willing to overlook it before the guy with the most death threats among the lot of us,” he gave Steve a pointed look, “moved into that blind spot.” Reaching for a bottle of brandy, he poured a glass and asked, “How do you do that, anyway? I didn’t think anyone could have people hate them more than they hate Natasha.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction and that was progress.

“So talk to him about it.”

“You say that like I haven’t tried,” Tony said. “He doesn't trust me, Steve. He doesn’t trust JARVIS, which is why I’m coming to you. Mediate. Keep my tower safe.” He could see Steve’s jaw hardening, so he blurted, “I’ve got enemies, too, you know. This place isn’t exactly a secret. Anyone finds out about that blind spot and we’re fucked. All of us, you, Barnes, Pepper...”

The face Steve pulled said Tony had hit on a point it was hard for Steve to refute.

“Tony,” Steve said slowly. He didn’t look calm or angry. He looked _sad_. “Bucky’s been better with JARVIS lately, he even asks him for directions, but agreeing to surveillance… He’s been a little more than a lab rat for most of his life. Nothing can convince him to change his mind about being unobserved.”

“Nothing at all?” Tony wheedled. “Not even a blow job from the one and only Captain America?”

Steve snorted.

“He’s not you, Tony.”

“Please, he is _worse_ than me. Remember that debrief with Hill? He kept eye-fucking you and he did it so well you all but dragged him out by the scruff of his neck. And nobody heard from you two for hours.” Tony leered. “ _You_ were even late with the after action report!”

Blushing, Steve looked away.

“Bucky isn’t going to change his mind.”

“Have you asked?” Tony insisted.

“It was literally the first thing he asked for when he came back, Tony. I _won’t_ ask. If he said no to you, that’s that.”

“I meant a different kind of asking,” Tony said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Tony,” Steve scolded.

“Steve,” Tony returned.

“Goddamn it, Tony.”

Tony didn’t bat an eye.

“You keep saying my name like it means something.”

“One would think you’ve heard your name shouted enough to know it means ‘shut up’.”

“Look at that,” Tony crowed, “Our golden retriever learned to bark back!”

Steve narrowed his eyes.

“I promise, my bite is worse than my bark. Drop it.”

Tony spread his palms.

“Fine, fine, but I won’t forget. Sooner or later, he needs to love JARVIS as the amazing, wonderful person that he is.”

“Well, he only tentatively acknowledges that JARVIS is a person at all.” Steve shifted, getting more comfortable on the couch. “I think the fact JARVIS is so adamant about not pushing Bucky’s limits, it’s actually helping a lot.” Oh god, Steve was starting to smile all goopy. It was disgusting how bewitched he was, and with somebody as neurotic and grumpy as Bucky. Unfathomable. “He even stopped reaching for his gun whenever JARVIS announces his presence outside the door. Hell, the other morning I even caught Bucky saying hello to JARVIS.”

“Ugh, you are disgustingly in love,” Tony complained

“I never thought I would be, you know,” Steve said, suddenly quiet.

“What? You?” Tony balked, shaking his head. “There are plenty of people who would die for a chance to be with you.” 

Steve was awesome; who wouldn’t want him?

“I’ve met three compatible Omegas in my life,” Steve answered, giving Tony that smile that JARVIS had confirmed was only his. “The first… Peggy, I lost her before anything could happen between us. Then I got unfrozen and met you, already bonded to Pepper.” Steve shrugged, but he was serious now. Sad, and Tony hated the puppy dog eyes. Tony mentally wondered if he’d remembered to set Sam’s number on speed dial. “I’ve been luckier than anyone I know, meeting three compatible Omegas, but for one reason or another, they always rejected me.”

“Bucky didn’t,” Tony felt he had to point out, if just to get rid of those damn sad eyes.

The smile was back in a heartbeat.

“No, no, he didn’t.”

“Ugh,” Tony put his hand over Steve’s face, “Stop that.”

Laughing, the fucker _licked_ him. 

“Ew!” Tony shouted. “Do you know how many germs inhabit the human mouth? Fuck,” he rubbed his hand hard against his pants, “That’s taking the dog comparison too far, Rogers.”

Steve kept laughing, the bastard, but the sad dog eyes were gone. Tony watched him, watched how happy the man was talking about Bucky, and wished he could see that same happiness in the Omega. He wished he could be sure Bucky loved Steve as much as Steve appeared to love him, but he couldn’t. The Omega was so prickly and cold to everybody it was hard to tell.

“Sorry, not sorry?”

Tony narrowed his eyes.

“Stay off the internet. It’s not for grandpas.”

“I’d say make me, but I’m afraid you could,” Steve said, holding his stomach as the laughter subsided.

Nodding imperiously, Tony said, “I could, but, ah, you and the Terminator are okay? I mean, besides all his obvious mental issues and PTSD.”

“Like any one of us can say we don’t have either,” Steve said.

“My point,” Tony agreed, sipping from his glass, “So?”

“We’re…good.”

“I heard a question mark in that,” Tony said pointedly.

Steve shrugged, ruffling his own hair.

“We’re better, I know that for sure. Learning each other, actually talking.”

Tony nodded.

“Four weeks of being bonded must be helping with that.”

Instead of agreeing, Steve winced.

“Not as much as I would like. Before we bonded, he told me he was angry all the time. I didn’t think he meant it quite so literally, but he is. Angry, all the time. Not like, Hulk smash angry, but there’s this low-key anger that constantly burns in him, and it obscures everything else.”

“Always?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrows. That was exactly the kind of unhealthy attitude he expected from Barnes. Not that he much blamed him. He rivaled Tony for the most fucked-up person in the building.

“Unless we’re having sex, yeah. It’s like… Actually I have no idea. I’ve got anger issues, but even I’m never angry at anybody or anything for so long. Not that he doesn’t feel other things, but his emotions are different. Sharp. Quick. Very focused. I’m just starting to realise _how_ differently he perceives things, and he acts like I’m torturing him every time I ask about his feelings.” 

Tony gulped down a hard swig of his brandy, realizing that Steve wanted to _talk_.

“It must be hard, feeling all that anger all the time,” Tony said cautiously.

Steve shook his head and smiled crookedly. 

“Not really. It’s not directed at me, I’m sure of that. And he likes Clint. Clint relaxes him, but absolutely hates elevators. So if you ever argue with him, don’t do it in an elevator. He also likes touch. Well, when I touch him.”

Tony leered again. 

“Yeah, we all saw how much when you were dragging him out of that briefing room.”

Steve blushed again.

“No, not like that. I mean, he likes it when I touch him just in general. His hand or his arm, just…contact. He never ignores it. Never.”

“He doesn’t strike me as a very touchy-feely person,” Tony mused, reflecting on the palpable aura of challenge that surrounded Barnes. He radiated a warning that to touch him would mean losing a few fingers.

“But he is!” Steve insisted. “Very tactile. And protective. You have no idea how much of a mother hen he can be. Especially on missions.”

“Yeah, that did notice.” Tony rolled his eyes. Barnes was worse than Steve, making sure everyone played by the rules, stuck to the plan. Working with Barnes was a bit like being herded around by an exceptionally grumpy, dangerous German shepherd. Tony liked working solo more and more these days, though Pepper absolutely hated it when he did.

“So, no regrets?” Tony asked.

Steve smiled, uncomplicatedly happy, and how could Tony argue with that?

“No. None.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky woke up without Steve curled about him as he had nearly every night since they had bonded. Sighing, he rolled over and looked at the clock next to his bed. Nearly three in the morning, then. Steve wasn’t with him because he was off on a training mission with Clint and Natasha. It was the second time they’d gone in the four weeks since Steve’s vacation had ended. A damned waste of time as far as Bucky was concerned, showing new S.H.I.E.L.D. agents the ropes; even worse when it meant he woke up alone.

Yawning, Bucky forced his feet to the floor as he felt a sudden hankering for something sweet. Ice cream sounded perfect, though it wouldn’t be as good with the copious waves of irritation and disgust coming through the bond. At least that meant it had been a good idea not to take Steve’s invitation to join them. Not that Steve had really wanted him to go. He thought Bucky would react violently if the new agents weren’t up to snuff. Considering Steve was already losing his cool, Bucky would probably be taking potshots at the greenhorns about now, proving Steve right.

Walking from the bedroom in just his underwear, Bucky paused in the doorway to take in Steve’s scent. He had needed some encouragement, since Steve was so intent on ignoring his own instincts, but the doorways, the sheets, had been deliberately marked with Steve’s scent. Of course, Bucky understood, Steve had been trying to give him a place that was just his, that hadn’t been taken by anyone else. Yet Bucky knew an Alpha would hate to leave their bonded Omega somewhere that wasn’t their own territory. And while he had enjoyed having his own space, Bucky liked the apartment smelling of them both. Especially when Steve went gallivanting off and left him alone.

In the kitchen, Bucky opened the the freezer and pulled out and ate a tub of the vanilla ice cream. Still hungry for more of the cold sweetness, he finished off a tub of chocolate. Not once as he ate did Steve relax. Not that Bucky could figure out what the recruits were doing to cause Steve so much irritation. The flashes of emotion were distracting, but also amusing, since Steve so rarely lost his temper.

When his spoon scraped across the bottom of the carton, Bucky got up to throw it away. As he was closing the cupboard door hiding the trash can, his eyes caught the jar of pickled tomatoes that Bruce had gifted everyone on the team as he’d taken up a new hobby. Pickling was weird, but so was Bruce, so he wasn’t too surprised. Licking his lips, Bucky decided the pickles looked real good right about now.

Wrapping his metal hand around the glass, Bucky tried opening the lid but the metal had a lousy grip. It screeched as he twisted, the lid not budging, and he growled a little under his breath. Big goddamned Hydra weapon, and he couldn’t even open a jar of pickles with it. 

Grabbing a paper towel, he wrapped it around his metal hand and tried again, being careful not to shatter the glass. With a pop, the lid gave, and Bucky hummed with satisfaction at the sight of the small tomatoes floating in the jar. Using two fingers, he fished one out. The aroma of spices and vinegar hit his nose pleasantly. He bit into the tomato, sucking out the spicy, sour juice, and downright moaning at the taste. It was so good, so freaking perfect, and exactly what he had wanted, he ate the first tomato in two bites

Wiping the juice from his chin, he leaned his hip on the counter, and set to eat more of them. He fished out another and ate it, practically moaning with enjoyment. Then another, and another; repeatedly dipping his fingers into the jar and pulling out the small tomatoes until he realised there were no more to find floating in the brine.

Sighing and licking his lips, Bucky dumped out the rest of the brine and left the jar in the sink to wash later. Bruce had been insistent on re-using the jars, not just throwing them out. When he turned from the sink, thinking he’d try to get some sleep again, his eyes caught sight of a Nutella jar Steve had left on the counter. His stomach growled and he reached for it without even thinking. 

When Bucky had a spoonful of the chocolate paste in his mouth, Bucky’s eyes landed on the pickle jar in the sink. Ice cream, pickled tomatoes, and Nutella? This wasn’t exactly a normal combination of food. Nor were these the kinds of things he was used to eating, either. Bucky frowned, realizing he had been feeling strange recently. The way he had been sleeping so heavily and deep, the way he was horny as hell, yet forever tired in the evenings. He had always eaten a lot, but he was constantly hungry now. Really hungry. He even started drinking Steve’s disgusting mission energy slop to stop himself from feeling like he was starving all the time.

Looking down at his flat belly, he swallowed.

_Fuck_.

He couldn’t be pregnant. He hadn’t gotten pregnant all the years he had been in Hydra’s control. He couldn't have children. He had been poked and prodded, downright _punished_ for it at times, yet he’d never gotten pregnant. Hydra would have loved it if they could have bred him. 

They couldn’t. 

_He_ couldn’t.

Curling his arm around his stomach, Bucky closed his eyes. Then he pushed off the sink, heading for his room, their bed. Falling into the sheets, onto Steve’s side, he wrapped himself in his mate’s scent. It was almost immediately calming, soothing the edge of worry his realization had left him with. It was only in his head, had to be. All he needed was some rest and for Steve to get back. Then he would get his head on straight again.

He was going to sleep, and when he woke up everything would be normal, as it had been until now.

\----

When he woke, Bucky was still alone in bed. An irritating realization, until it occurred to him it was already afternoon. Steve should be back. Once he realized that, Bucky could feel him just downstairs. In the common room, most likely, since he didn’t feel like he was training. 

After rolling to his feet, he pulled on clothes, and headed for the elevator. 

“Where is Steve?” Bucky asked the air, still not sure how he felt when he did. He understood, on a certain level, that JARVIS was a person. A non-biological person, but a person nonetheless. It still felt odd to talk to him, not because he was created as a machine, but because he was such an omnipresent creature. JARVIS permeated the tower and followed Tony around like a beloved puppy. 

Bucky wasn’t an expert on technology, but he knew his way around internet and simple hacks. The things that JARVIS did? They were not simple or easy. Still, even though JARVIS had such potential for being an intrusive, big brother type presence, the AI was clearly trying to respect his privacy. It was a little ridiculous at times, at least Steve claimed so, but Bucky was maybe a little charmed at the fact JARVIS never used his phone, never took over the device or added things to it. He never even texted Bucky like he did Steve, because Bucky hadn’t given him the number. Instead, JARVIS just made a loud sound outside his apartment door that reminded Bucky of train stations. It was the AI’s equivalent of knocking. 

Even after he had bonded with Steve, JARVIS hadn’t changed the behavior. Bucky suspected he would never agree to any kind of surveillance in his apartment, but he found it easier to talk to the AI now. They could respect each other.

“Captain Rogers is in the library with Dr. Banner,” JARVIS answered. “Shall I take you there?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “Thanks.”

“Of course, Sergeant,” JARVIS answered, even as the elevator started to move.

When the door opened, Bucky stepped out and followed the bond toward the library located off of the common room. 

“It’s not that I don’t want kids.” Bucky froze feet from the doorway at the sound of Steve’s voice. More specifically, what he was saying. “It’s just…there’s no guarantee the serum will be passed to them and I’m… I wasn’t…”

“Your health issues,” Bruce’s voice finished.

Bucky laid his hand over his stomach and felt the air leave his lungs. 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Modern medicine solves a lot of issues, but I’m honestly terrified they’d be as sickly as I was. And I did that? Forced that kind of life on them?”

There was a crinkle of paper, somebody shifting on the couch.

“And with the serum not being inheritable in the full extent, you can’t be sure your kids would be healthy because of it. I mean,“ Bruce continued, “some of your DNA was changed by the serum and those changes would most probably be inheritable, but even now we don’t know how much of the parents’ characteristics will actually show up in the children. Genetics is a funny thing. Some studies show that intelligence is only inherited from the mother, the bearer and has nothing to do with the father, while eye color is exactly half and half. There are a million permutations, but the fact remains that the serum is a chemical agent, and therefore it, itself, would not be inheritable, just like a transfer of your blood does not make the person who received that blood enhanced.”

There was enough silence at Bruce’s words that Bucky almost continued into the room. Except his feet were glued to the floor, his hand to his belly, as Steve’s words rang in his ears. Steve wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to have kids.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked.

“Something startled Bucky,” Steve muttered.

“You want to check on him?”

“He can take care of himself,” Steve answered, “and he doesn’t like to be coddled.” Taking a deep breath, he continued as if they hadn’t changed topics. “I’ve never talked about this with anyone, you know? Not many people get it, not what it was like. How many times I almost died? Can’t even say why. If it was getting sick that made my heart weak, or my heart was just defective, and I’ve done the research, as much as I understand it. If it was congenital, not from the Rheumatic fever, it could be passed to my kids.”

Bucky swallowed hard, hand pressing harder to his stomach. 

“Not even Bucky?” Bruce asked, the same question he was thinking.

“No,” Steve confessed, “With what happened to him, he can’t have kids, so I didn’t want to bring it up. Not when I’m just as likely to explain myself as make him think I don’t want his kids.”

Bruce snorted.

“Steve, that’s a terrible excuse.”

“Maybe,” Steve admitted ruefully, “but there’s not much of a conversation to be had when we can’t even have kids.”

“Steve,” Bruce said and there was terrible gentleness to his voice, “that might be a good thing. You have to know that if you did end up having kids…” Bruce went quite, obviously not wanting to say something. Hesitating, which wasn’t like him at all.

“With someone else?”

“There are other options,” Bruce replied, “Surrogates and the like.”

“But?” Steve asked pointedly.

“With how enhanced you are,” Bruce hesitated again, “you will most certainly, outlive any child you conceive.”

Bucky sucked in a breath, trying not to feel just how violently those words punched through him. They wormed themselves under his anger, under his usually impenetrable shield, and _wrenched_ at his heart. Immediately he feared Steve would feel it, feel how deep they burrowed, but then he realized how hard they’d hit Steve. Just as deep, just as brutal, slicing away at Steve until he only felt ache and regret.

“Yeah,” Steve said hoarsely, “guess it’s a good thing we can’t have them then.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky turned and hurried away. The words, how Steve took comfort in that they couldn’t have children, Bruce’s revelation that he would have to watch any child he gave birth to die made him dizzy. He had no idea what to think, what to do, what to feel. All he could do was breathe through the pain, the way he had taught himself so many years ago. 

Just breathe.

Maybe he wasn’t pregnant after all, he thought desperately. Maybe it was just his mind playing him for a fool. There were no outright signs other than his strange appetite. Everybody told him he ate the strangest things anyway. There was no proof, Bucky thought. No proof. 

The elevator dinged open on the floor Stark had dedicated to training and working out. JARVIS, predicting where he wanted to be, which was creepy and yet gratifying all at once. Bucky headed straight for the pool, not bothering to change, but just stripping down at the edge and diving in naked. 

It could easily all just be in his head. Not like he’d taken a pregnancy test. So what if he’d eaten some weird food? Or he was sleeping so much? The sex was normal; he’d always had a high sex drive. It didn’t _have_ to mean anything. He adored the way Steve made him feel, so he wanted Steve to touch him as often as possible. That was logical, it made sense. Bucky loved being fucked, and with Steve, it was always so easy. Steve never once made him feel bad, feel less for the wanting. 

Besides, they’d been bonded just four weeks now, they had every right to have sex as often and as much as they wanted. It had always been without any kind of contraceptives, but there was never any result other than the obvious. Anyway, if he was meant to have kids, wouldn’t he have been pregnant a dozen times over by now? Hydra would have loved that, breeding more versions of him to use as their soldiers. To use against Bucky. He’d always thought he was lucky he couldn’t have kids.

Bucky swam the whole length of the pool underwater, not coming up for air until he hit the opposite wall. He was probably overreacting anyway, though the words he had heard upstairs were ringing in his hears as he gulped down air and set to do another lap. It made sense. Steve didn’t want kids because he was afraid his genetics would kill any child he had. This wasn’t something Bucky had never considered for himself. As far as he remembered, he was a healthy child, and if there had been any problems with his health to come up later, the serum had fixed it. 

Steve was a different story altogether, if the barman was to be believed, and there was no reason to start doubting him now.

Already his muscles burned a little from the exertion, so Bucky pushed himself faster, not allowing himself another breath until he hit the opposite wall. Bucky reached the it and came up for air, gulping down quick breaths before submerging again. Kicking off the wall, he started yet another lap. 

Steve had been sick, really sick, as a kid. So sick that, if it hadn’t been for the serum, he wouldn’t have lived to see his thirties. He was probably right to have that fear that if the serum wasn’t inheritable. And Bruce seemed sure of that just like the Hydra scientists working on him had been, any kid Steve had would be sick as hell. Maybe too sick to live, even with the kind of medical knowledge available now. 

Bucky’s lungs were burning, eyesight a little blurry, but the wall was close. He kicked out harder, reaching the wall just when his lungs started to really burn. His head breached the surface and he was gulping in breaths, just two, so quick his lungs weren’t satisfied, still burning. He was ready to submerge again when he felt a sudden, strong grip on his shoulders and somebody was _pulling_ him out of the water.

Tensed, ready to fight, until Bucky realised he knew that presence, that the bond was humming with deep anger, fear, and pain. _Steve_. Steve had him. They ended up on the edge of the pool, Steve’s arms hooked under Bucky’s shoulders, Bucky’s wet body resting back to chest against his Alpha who was heaving sharp breaths as if he’d been the one who had been starving for oxygen.

“What the hell, Steve?” Bucky snarled, still reeling from the suddenness of it all. “I was training!”

“You know what the hell,” Steve argued, snarling low and angry, his hands clenched almost painfully on Bucky’s shoulders. “It wasn’t training, it was torture! You were purposefully causing yourself pain by not letting yourself breathe!”

Burying his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck, Steve inhaled sharply.

“Steve…”

“I could feel the bond fading,” Steve whispered. “You, fading. You were on the edge of passing out.”

Bucky blinked, taking stock of his body, of the faint tremor in his limbs and the warm, fuzzy feeling in his head. Steve was right, he thought. He was on the verge of asphyxia. Well, if he did pass out while swimming he would just drown for a while, but probably survive. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky blurted out, hoping to calm Steve down. “It wouldn’t be the first time I drowned - Whoa, Steve, Jesus.”

The bond felt like it was overloading with the fear that was coming off Steve in waves. Bucky couldn’t remember feeling anything like it and he couldn’t even turn around, Steve was holding him too tightly. Holding on even harder now, fingers digging into his shoulders. The metal one whirred and recalibrated, but his flesh shoulder was starting to hurt from the angle.

“Steve,” Bucky tried, completely taken aback by the power of Steve’s reaction, “it’s okay. It’s safe; there’s no danger here.”

“It’s not okay,” Steve hissed, “I can’t, I need,” there was a hitch to Steve’s breathing and his arms tightened until Bucky gasped. Then he released a big, long breath and shifted his hold, holding Bucky’s waist, the other arm around his chest. “Why are you even doing that?” Steve asked, voice tight with emotion, but a tiny bit calmer. “What were you even doing?” 

“Training,” Bucky answered, but he was hesitant now, careful. 

It hadn’t escaped him that it was him who had upset Steve.

“You call this training?” Steve demanded. “Please tell me you don’t train like this all the time.”

Bucky twisted and wiggled in Steve’s grip until he was facing his Alpha, both of them now on their knees. Tilting Steve’s face up, he got his first look at him. Steve looked terrible. He was pale, his eyes were wide, and edged with white. He was truly terrified.   
Bucky opened his mouth to say yes, because it was the truth, but it occurred to him he would be hurting Steve even more with that answer. He didn’t want to hurt Steve more, but he also didn’t want to lie to him without a valid reason.

“Why?” Steve asked, the word breaking between them. “You don’t have to anymore.”

Raising his hands, Bucky carefully laid them on Steve’s shoulders, his metal one shivering to rid itself of the water and filling the room with a quiet, metallic rustling. His flesh hand, still cold from the water, ran up over the tight muscles of Steve’s biceps to an equally tight shoulder and neck. He could feel Steve’s pulse thundering under his fingers.

“It’s how I always trained,” Bucky said, a little helplessly. 

He wasn’t _trying_ to hurt Steve, but that didn’t stop the flare of pain through the bond, or the tightening of his arms. Though Bucky had twisted around, Steve hadn’t let go, his arms still about his waist and shoulders.

“No, it’s not,” Steve argued, and Bucky would have thought him angry if he couldn’t feel the panic. “It’s how _they_ trained you. Bucky, you don’t _have_ to, you don’t have to put yourself in danger like that. There are so many other ways.”

Bucky hesitated. He didn't see it as putting himself in danger. It had hurt, made his lungs burn, but it was efficient. The pain forced his body to learn faster. So what if it hurt while he was doing it? He didn’t have to stop and think, didn’t have to plan how he was going to train. He just did it. But Steve looked almost grey with how badly it had affected him, his hands were still trembling where they clutched at Bucky.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly, and he was truly sorry for scaring Steve. He was also helpless how to change it, how to fix it. He leaned forward, brushing his lips over Steve’s, just a small, careful touch. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,”

“I know,” Steve said softly, “I know, just… God, it felt like I was losing you.”

Bucky shifted again, straddling Steve’s legs and sat down in his lap, purposefully pressing as much of their bodies together as possible. Steve lowered both his hands to his back, instinctively offering him support. It was always a rush, how easily Steve took his weight, how easily he could manhandle Bucky if he wanted to. Bucky shifted again, fighting the drag of his naked, wet skin over the damp clothes Steve was wearing until he was sitting on Steve’s thighs, so close their torsos were pressed together. Tangling his flesh hand into Steve’s hair, he ran his fingers through the short strands, trying to ease the tension from Steve’s body.

“It’s okay, Steve,” he murmured slowly, “I’m okay.”

“Promise me,” Steve demanded fiercely, even as he leaned into Bucky’s touch, “swear to me you will not endanger your life for goddamn _training_ ever again.”

Bucky looked at the set of Steve’s jaw, at the remaining tension visible in every inch of his body. Steve was terrified, still. And Bucky had the power to stop it.

“I promise.”

Like someone had cut his strings, Steve sagged against him, pressing his face once more into the join of his neck and shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured, “I just love you so damn much…” Taking a shaky breath, not lifting his face, he asked, “What’s got you so upset?”

“Eh?” Bucky blinked, thrown off by the abrupt shift in conversation.

Steve huffed.

“You,” he repeated, “were upset. I’m guessing it’s why you were pushing yourself so damned hard.”

Bucky didn’t tense; he wasn’t about to betray himself that easily, especially when it came to this particular topic. Not when he wasn’t even sure he was pregnant, when it could all very well be in his head. Not when Steve didn’t even want kids. Not when he… Did he even want kids himself? To outlive a child, _his_ child, after giving it life… Bucky wasn’t sure he could. How was he supposed to _talk_ about that. He couldn’t; he wasn’t ready. Not to fail himself, Steve, and their baby so spectacularly. 

Besides, he probably wasn’t even pregnant.

“Do you know the first thing I did that rebelled against my Hydra conditioning?” Bucky asked instead of answering.

“No,” Steve replied slowly, changing topics right along with Bucky as if the segue had made sense, “you never said.”

“I stole an apple,” Bucky said, feeling strangely nostalgic remembering that moment of impulsive action, that first true break from his programming.

“An apple?” Steve repeated, worried, but not pushing Bucky to answer him.

Bucky nodded.

“They controlled everything I did. When I slept, how long, where, when I ate, and what. It was always this super healthy, super-bland goop. I was always handed whatever I needed, never allowed to actually provide anything for myself, except during survival training.”

Steve licked his lips, face pressed so close to Bucky’s skin he felt it brush against his pulse.

“That makes sense,” he murmured, “Taking something small, edible.”

“I was in Europe somewhere, close to Russia, I think. Nobody told me, but the language was similar enough to Russian it had to be somewhere along their borders anyway. I was in disguise, tailing my mark through a farmers market, and there were these crates filled with apples. There were so many kinds, each different in size, color, smell. I didn’t think, I just palmed one as I was passing and took a bite. The way it tasted, god Steve, I nearly stumbled over my own feet at the taste. Tart and sweet, so crunchy, the sound rattled in my head for days afterwards. I ate it all in just a few bites, including the core. It was so good, so incredible, I could feel my mouth salivating for months afterwards, just remembering the taste.”

As Bucky had spoken, the fear in the bond had faded, replaced by a gentle puzzlement, and the growing, fluffy warmth that Bucky was getting used to when Steve was feeling love. His lips pressed to Bucky’s pulse, his clavicle, then the bond mark, but Bucky was surprised not to feel much sorrow. The few times Bucky had ever mentioned what he’d been through, Steve had always been upset, but not this time.

“Is that where your obsession with fruit started?” Steve asked.

“I don’t have an obsession,” Bucky murmured. “Well, maybe, but not with _fruit_.”

Steve laughed quietly, but he wasn’t pressing Bucky to answer, even now, and Bucky felt his chest swell with gratitude.

“What are you obsessed with?”

Bucky shifted, letting his ass slide up over Steve’s thighs, pressing them even closer together.

“There are parts of you I am definitely obsessed with,” Bucky murmured, pressing his lips against Steve’s cheek and dragging them down slowly, making Steve’s breath pick up.

“I’ll have you know,” Steve said breathlessly, “I’m letting you get away with distracting me.”

Bucky laughed, charmed for no reason whatsoever.

“Are you happy?” he asked, dragging his fingers over Steve’s neck and under his collar, feeling the way that powerful chest expanded.

Softening, melting against Bucky, Steve nodded. The warmth bubbled up in the bond, overflowing as much as Steve’s fear had before. His hands pressed lightly against Bucky’s back, running up along his spine, massaging the muscles. Ducking his head, he brushed his lips against Bucky’s bond mark again, making shivers race down Bucky’s spine. It felt so good. it was so easy, always. All Steve needed to do was to touch Bucky and he was ready, all but begging for it, Each and every time. He didn’t know if Steve was aware of this effect he had on Bucky, on how rare and wonderful it was.

“Yeah, pretty,” Steve answered. “I’m happy.”

Bucky pulled his hand away from Steve’s neck and ran it down that powerful chest to the trim waist and the hard stomach he could feel under the cotton.

“And I’m naked, if you haven't noticed yet.”

 

“Oh, like I could _not_ notice,” Steve purred, hands sliding back down to get two handfuls of Bucky’s ass.

Bucky chuckled and pressed his lips to Steve’s ear. 

“I’m naked. I’ve been sitting in your lap completely naked.” Bucky breathed against Steve’s ear. “And I’m wet Steve.” Gently, he bit at Steve’s earlobe. “ _Wet_ ,” he repeated, shifting his hips in Steve’s lap, feeling Steve rapidly swelling in his pants. “All I would need to do was to open your pants. Just get your cock out of your pants and slide it into me; easy as that.” 

The longer he talked, the longer he pictured it in his mind, the more turned-on Bucky grew. Steve, getting a good grip on his ass, all that power in his arms and shoulders there for his pleasure. Bucky thought of the stretch he would feel if they did it without preparation. Steve probably wouldn’t let them be as rough as Bucky wanted, always so careful of him, but they were fucking almost every night. At this point, Bucky could probably take Steve’s cock dry. 

“How wet, pretty?” Steve gasped, eyes darting to the door.

“Do you want to check?” Bucky murmured, dragging his hand lower and pressing it against Steve’s cock through the layers of the clothes. “Make sure?” He breathed the words right into Steve’s ear. “Because I am going to open your pants now. Get your cock out, since I think it likes me enough to cooperate.”

“Right here?” Steve asked, nervousness fluttering through his excitement. “Door’s not locked.”

Steve’s fingers slipped between Bucky’s cheeks, skimming over his crack, through the slick that had been leaking from him for a while now. It was an unexpected boon of the bonding, how he got slick for Steve whenever he was turned on, no heat required. He felt and heard Steve shudder as he pressed two fingers to Bucky’s hole.

“Nobody comes here but me,” Bucky breathed, hot at the fact Steve wasn’t protesting, was touching him despite the hesitation.

Steve’s fingers probed at his hole and Bucky moaned quietly, sliding his fingers over the prominent bulge of Steve’s cock, searching for the button of his pants. As Bucky worked it open, Steve shift worked his finger into Bucky. Shuddering, he pushed his ass back against that questing finger. Steve obeyed his silent request, slowly but firmly working a second finger in.

“God, you _are_ ,” Steve groaned, “You’re so wet for me. You drive me crazy like this. Want me to fuck you, Buck? Right here on the cement? Or you want me to take you in the water?”

Bucky managed to get the button and the zipper open, and yes, Steve's cock was definitely cooperating. It was so hard and even a little wet at the tip. Bucky gave it as much of a rub as he could while staying plastered to Steve’s chest. His own cock was just as firm, rubbing against Steve’s shirt. His hips were moving, working his ass onto Steve’s fingers, and then back, to press his cock against the ridges of Steve’s stomach. Steve was just letting him, letting Bucky fuck himself on his fingers while curling them so they hit Bucky’s prostate every time.

A second finger pushed in with the first, stretching him wider. Bucky loved the stretch, loved the idea of Steve’s fingers preparing him for his cock, so long and thick in Bucky’s hand. He wanted it in him, was hot enough he didn’t want any more foreplay. Bucky had never had sex in water, though, and it seemed like a new, exciting idea.

Letting go of Steve’s dick, Bucky curled his metal hand over Steve’s shoulder, leaning back enough to grin at him. He saw Steve’s eyes widen and felt his fingers pulling out of him as he threw himself backward, pulling Steve after him. They fell over the edge of the pool, into the water. Bucky turned, swimming upwards even as he felt the water churn from Steve’s large form joining him. 

Before Steve could recover, Bucky swam to the shallow end, knowing he would need the leverage if they were going to fuck in the pool after all. He was faster by mere seconds, mostly because he had the advantage of surprise. Once he got to the shallows, though, Steve caught up. 

When he felt Steve’s large hand close on his ankle and _pull_ , Bucky didn’t yelp, but only barely. He flailed as Steve hauled him back so he could catch Bucky about his waist and drag him back through the water until his back hit Steve’s chest.

“I take it you chose the water?” Steve growled, one arm locked like a steel band around Bucky’s chest. He was pulling him back, into shallower water until they reached the steps leading into the pool and Steve sat down on it, pulling Bucky into his lap.

“Yeah,” Bucky gasped, feeling Steve’s hard cock slide over the small of his back, very hot compared to the cool water. He squirmed, feeling himself get hotter as well, slicker, with want. “Steve,” he gasped “I want you.” 

Bucky flailed a little as Steve yanked him back and up on his legs. Bucky couldn’t reach the bottom of the pool and neither could he reach the edges of it. All he could do was grab Steve. He had no leverage at all. 

“You always want me so bad,” Steve said, a thread of wonder in his voice, “It makes my head explode.” Steve nipped at Bucky’s neck, his shoulder. “It’s the most marvelous thing that has ever happened to me; you wanting me so bad.”

“I do, Steve,” Bucky confirmed, his voice high with need, “I want you to touch me, I want you to fuck me.” He pressed himself back as much as he could, rubbing his ass against the hot cock trapped between them. “I want your cock inside me. Your fingers, your tongue. Everything. Everything you can give me, I want it.”

Steve exhaled, loud and ragged over Bucky’s neck, the arm still locked around him like a steel band about his chest.

“God, I want you so much,” Steve murmured, “You make me feel alive.” Steve put his other hand on Bucky’s thigh and dragged it up, between his legs, so that he could cup Bucky’s balls, avoiding his cock and making Bucky arch and gasp. His palm was closed over Bucky’s testicles, rolling them between his fingers, the contrast of cool water and Steve’s very hot hand stole Bucky’s breath away. “Do you want me to make you feel good?” 

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Bucky begged, spreading his legs wider, aware that he was totally naked while Steve was almost completely dressed, just his pants open to let his cock out. ”I always want it from you.”

Steve locked his mouth on Bucky’s neck, sucking hard as he shifted his grip on him, both hands now locked on Bucky’s hips. Steve could always lift him easily, but here, in the water, it was child's play. Effortlessly he had Bucky up, then lowered right onto his cock. Not breaching him yet, just letting the fat head of it rub against Bucky’s back, his ass, his hole. He did it over and over again, until Bucky whimpered, his own hands closing overs Steve’s.

“Steve,” Bucky moaned, cursing the water and how helpless it had made him.

“Don't you like my cock?” Steve murmured, dragging his teeth against Bucky’s neck. “I’m just letting you feel it.”

Bucky groaned, feeling betrayed at the sudden resurgence of sass in his bondmate.

“I love it _inside_ me,” Bucky complained, so focused on the way Steve’s cock felt catching over his hole and then sliding away. “Please,” he said, letting out a whine, aching to feel that hot hardness inside him.

Steve made a small, shuddery sound and gripped Bucky’s hips tighter. Repositioning him, Steve pulled him down, slowly, onto his cock. Bucky moaned, mouth open wide, head tipped back, as he felt that thick shaft pierce him inch by inch. The water was getting everywhere, pushed inside him along with Steve’s cock. It felt so strange, but so good. The water made it feel bigger, longer, wetter, and Bucky was moaning like an animal as Steve took his time bottoming out, pulling Bucky so close. His hole twitched, burning a little from the stretch. 

Panting, the full and heavy sensation of Steve inside pushed the breath right out of him, as it always did. He gasped and moaned, squirming, wanting more, wanting the burn to fade, but at the same time relishing it. He loved this, loved it from moment of penetration, the moment when Steve’s cock breached him for the first time. The stretch, the ease with which Steve could hold him wherever he wanted to; it felt so hot inside him, bigger than usual and so damn good that Bucky had to close his eyes to get a hold of himself.

Only, Steve didn’t want him to get a hold of himself. As Bucky moaned at the contrast of the cool water and the heat of Steve’s cock, Steve wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him down. The other ran up, over his stomach, over his ribs, and traced the edge of a pectoral muscle. Before Steve even reached for his nipple, Bucky moaned, loving it when Steve played with them.

Taking the hard nub between his thumb and forefinger, Steve rubbed, then twisted and pulled. Bucky moaned, arching against Steve’s chest. The arm around his waist locked tight, keeping him from doing more than shift on Steve’s cock, so big inside him. It held tight even as he reached for Bucky’s other nipple, teasing both, alternating rough and gentle, exactly like Bucky wanted, making him writhe and moan, so hot he was panting with it.

“Steve, oh, Steve,” Bucky moaned helplessly, loving it, loving what Steve was doing with his body.

The sweet torture went on and on, building the pressure inside him without giving him anything to release it, Steve alternating back and forth, leaving neither nub unattended for long. Bucky’s back was arched, his head resting along Steve’s shoulder. Steve had taken the offering, his lips traveling his shoulder, throat, jaw and ear. Bucky’s nipples were rapidly getting sore, swelling into hard little nubs that were so sensitive they were almost painful, twinging every time Steve pulled at them.

When Bucky didn’t think he could take much more, clenching on Steve’s cock as hard as he could, begging wordlessly to be fucked, Steve switched hands. The cold of the water had chilled Steve’s fingers, the cool contrast between the heat of his abused nipples and Steve’s fingers made him cry out.

“God, I love the sounds you make,” Steve groaned in his ear. “The way you clench down when I do this just right…” he twisted Bucky’s nipples as he spoke, making Bucky arch and jerk on his cock like a puppet. “That’s it, pretty. Feels so good, doesn’t it? You love it when I play with you, don’t you?”

Bucky tried to tell him he did, that he loved it, but all that came out was a choked sob. 

“I can tell how bad you need it, pretty,” Steve purred, “Gonna drive you wild, make it last, until you stop thinking. All you gotta do is take it.”

Bucky moaned at the words, closing his eyes and turning his head towards Steve’s neck, feeling his warmth and his scent. The cock inside him was so big, so wide and so heavy but it wasn’t moving, wasn’t doing anything but making Bucky think about it, focus only on the large, hot presence inside him. Steve was teasing, tormenting his nipples and it felt so good. It was everything he wanted, everything he needed from a lover. It pulled him out of his head, pulled him out of his body. Steve delivered the perfect combination of pleasure and pain, entrenching Bucky in the here and now, making him know, deep into his bones, that he wasn’t under Hydra’s control any more. That he was here, with Steve, never anywhere else, never anybody else inside him.

“So good,” Bucky moaned. “You’re so good to me.”

Chuckling darkly, Steve dropped his hand from Bucky’s nipples.

“Know what you need, pretty,” Steve promised, his hand trailing back down his chest to his stomach, where he wrapped his hand about Bucky’s cock. 

Flinching, Bucky clenched down _hard_ on Steve’s cock and he groaned, squeezing his shaft. Though he was buried inside Bucky, Steve didn’t fuck him even now. He squeezed his cock again and began stroking, roughly jerking at his shaft through the water. Unable to reach the bottom or sides of the pool, all Bucky _could_ do was take it. Accept Steve’s hand on him, pushing him rapidly, swiftly toward orgasm. He clamped down on his Alpha’s wrist, moaning, body shuddering as his over-sensitive nipples throbbed in the cool air. Steve was merciless, pushing him higher and higher, making his blood roar in his ears.

And then he stopped.

Bucky whined, gasping for air, but Steve only held him down on his lap harder, his hand slipping down between Bucky’s thighs. Hot fingers trailed over his submerged, chilled thighs, slow, down and up, then pulling to spread his legs further apart. Bucky’s other leg obeyed without any pressure, his body spreading for Steve without further prompting, leaving Bucky with even less leverage, spread out on Steve’s lap.

“God,” Steve whispered against his ear, “you’re so fucking incredible.”

Trailing his fingers back up Bucky’s thighs, he cupped Bucky’s balls again and rolled them in his large, strong hand. 

“If I,” Bucky groaned, “brought home nipple clamps, would you use them? On me?” 

Even as he asked, the image unfolded in his head, the thought coming out of nowhere. Small, metal, digging into his nipples every time Steve fucked into him, making the clamps sway, providing those tiny shocks of pain that he adored so much and leaving Steve’s hands free to touch him more, elsewhere, everywhere. To hold him, keep him still.

“You want that?” Steve asked and Bucky nodded, the cool air scraping his throat as he tried to take in enough air into his lungs. “‘Course I will. Maybe a little chain between ‘em? So I can tug on it.” Bucky moaned and Steve growled, low and possessive. “Yeah, pretty, I’ll do that. What else do you want me to do to you?”

Letting go of his balls, Steve’s hand quested lower, brushing his perineum and then finding his hole. Slowly, they brushed the stretched-open rim, teasing the sensitive skin where they were joined. His lips pressed to Bucky’s jaw, lower to his pulse point, and latched on, sucking what would have been a bruise if he didn’t heal so fast.

“Anything,” Bucky groaned, dizzy with the need, the tension. “Do everything with me, everything you can imagine. Fuck me, Steve, please, fuck me. Make me come.” 

Squirming and clenching down on the cock inside him, Bucky’s hole fluttered over the shaft stretching it, under Steve’s questing fingers. It was so much, so much but not enough. His nipples throbbed, so sensitive they were almost painful, but a good kind of painful, one that sent little shocks of pleasure to his cock. He was so close, he was almost, almost on the edge of an orgasm, but not quite close enough.

“Not until you calm down,” Steve chided.

Bucky sobbed, trying to fight the hold Steve had on his hips, and got nowhere. The arm just clamped down, like an iron band holding him in place. All it did was make him wriggle on Steve’s cock, teasing and useless.

“None of that, pretty,” Steve said, tone sharp, pulling his hand from between Bucky’s legs to hold onto his hip. 

Bucky panted, moaning in frustration as Steve did nothing else, touched him nowhere, only kept his hands firmly on Bucky’s hips, keeping him still, unmoving. Steve spread his knees, pushing Bucky’s legs widely apart, making Bucky’s cock float helplessly in the water, no stimulation other than the cool currents of water to drive him mad.

Steve left him that way, holding him down, fingers brushing over his hips until Bucky’s breathing calmed, the ache in his cock subsided. Then, without warning, he lifted Bucky up and slammed him down, the water churning between them violently. Bucky shouted Steve’s name, hands clamping down over Steve’s, throwing his head back once more. God it burned so good, the sudden stretch when he had almost got used to the presence so unmoving inside him for so long.

Groaning, Steve did it again, his hips snapping up to meet Bucky’s hips as he was lifted and dropped over and over, Steve’s cock dragging over his insides so sweetly it made Bucky gasp and clench down desperately. Steve fucked into Bucky hard, ruthlessly, grunting with exertion every time Bucky splashed back down into the water. Every time Bucky cried out, the water pushed inside him, surging around Steve’s cock deeper than anything had ever been. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouted, helpless to do anything but endure, ride Steve’s whims with no leverage of his own, letting the Alpha control every move, every thrust, trusting Steve to bring him pleasure, giving his body over. The waves of pleasure rolled over him, soaring higher with each drag of Steve’s cock over his prostate, over his insides, over his stretched, aching hole. Though he cursed, Steve didn’t stop, pushed them hard and fast toward an intense orgasm.

And then he stopped again.

“No!” Bucky cried, tugging uselessly at Steve’s hands, trying to get his Alpha to lift him up again. “So close. Steve, don’t stop, please…”

“Not yet,” Steve gasped, hands clamped down once more, holding Bucky in place, “Fuck, you’re so,” Bucky clenched down on Steve and he groaned, pressing his face against Bucky’s shoulder. “No. Not yet. Not done with you yet.”

“What do you mean, not done?” Bucky groaned, helplessly clenching down on the cock still inside him, remembering, imagining how it felt when Steve fucked him like he meant it.

One of Steve’s arms wrapped around his waist again, the other lifting until Steve could wrap his hand about Bucky’s throat. It made Bucky’s heart race, but Steve just tilted his head, forcing Bucky to expose his throat. Expose Steve’s mark on Bucky’s skin. 

“I mean,” Steve growled, “you’re going to come when I say you do.”

Before Bucky could protest, Steve bit down on Bucky’s neck, his teeth fixing over the bond mark. Bucky shouted, arching and then collapsed, moaning, against Steve’s chest. Whining softly, Bucky wrapped his hands loosely around Steve’s wrists, just needing to hold on to him. Hold on to his Alpha as he gave in, gave himself over to whatever Steve was going to do to him.

Sensing Bucky’s surrender, Steve growled with pleasure. His teeth didn’t leave Bucky’s neck as both Steve’s hands rose to his pecs, covering the muscles before massaging, kneading at the flesh like a cat. It felt good, it felt sweet and nice, and it was all that Bucky did not want right now. He whined in protest, clenching down on the cock inside him and Steve shushed him, but trusted him not to take what he had been told he couldn’t have, not holding Bucky down again with anything but his teeth in Bucky’s neck. 

Steve’s fingers trailed to his nipples, getting a good hold of the hard, peaked flesh. He rubbed them, gently at first, just teasing with the light sensation before firming his grip and starting to pull at them. Pull hard enough he stretched them a little from Bucky’s body, causing sharp zings of pleasurable pain travel through his chest, over his belly, and down to his cock. It twitched helplessly against his stomach, swollen red and leaking into the water. It was so good, Bucky moaned, twisting on Steve’s lap, not knowing what to focus on more, the cock inside him, or the fingers tormenting his nipples so sweetly. it felt so good, so damn good Bucky could feel the tension in him growing again, cresting; he wals almost there, almost to orgasm but not quite there yet.

“Oh, pretty,” Steve murmured, lapping at the teeth marks he’d left in Bucky’s skin, “You’re clenched so sweet on me. You’re so tight, so hot; the sounds you make, Bucky, you blow my mind.”

Steve, the utter bastard, let go of Bucky’s nipples, letting them throb and ache as the water lapped at them. He was so close, so damned close, and Steve was making him wait again. Wait, when Bucky could feel how hard he was. He had been hard for so long he couldn’t be as unaffected as he pretended to be. 

Twisting, Bucky grabbed hold of Steve’s shoulder and pulled himself off Steve’s cock entirely. They both groaned as the head of Steve’s cock pulled free, Bucky's hole clenching helplessly on nothing. He twisted in the water, slapping Steve’s hands away so he could face Steve. Bucky kissed him, hard and wet, pushing his tongue inside as deep as he could. He floated down onto Steve’s lap, twisting his knees to get a good hold of Steve’s hips, his ass resting against Steve’s groin. 

Keeping his metal hand locked on Steve’s shoulder, he shoved his flesh one between them and took hold of Steve’s cock. He held it steady, kissing Steve hard as he sank down on it that had teased him for so long. He felt Steve shudder into the kiss, felt him wrap his arms around Bucky, but he wasn’t stopping him. Not even as he got a good grip on Steve’s shoulders and raised up on his cock. He was practically whining at how good the drag of Steve’s cock felt against his sensitive prostate, and then slammed himself down as hard as he could. He bounced on Steve's cock again and again, feeling it fuck into him, fill him. Steve’s hand wormed between their bellies, closed around his hard and aching cock and started to jerk him off. Bucky moaned into the kiss, his body tensing, the pleasure spiking sharply. In a few minutes, he was groaning right into their kiss, his body clenching down, and he was _there_.

Steve was holding him tight, so tight it was hard to breathe. His hips were snapping up, thrusting his cock inside Bucky even as Bucky was coming, body locking down as his cock spurted load after load of come into the water. He was oversensitive, his gaze whiting out as the pleasure continued, each shove of Steve’s cock pushing the breath out of him, making him moan like wild thing. He was whimpering helplessly as his cock twitched, Steve still jerking him, his palm sliding over the swollen flesh. Steve was groaning, growling right into the kiss when he suddenly stilled, the arm around Bucky locking tight. Bucky could feel him, dizzy and spent as he was, as Steve swelled even more inside him, stretching him more and then filled him with hot come, making Bucky shudder and whine at the sensation of each scalding spurt inside him.

They both came down slowly, Steve’s arm locked tightly around Bucky, holding him up, the other palm closed on Bucky’s cock, massaging gently as Bucky softened. Steve was biting gently at his chin, his jaw, his neck, coming back to the bond mark over and over again, licking over it, biting down gently, making the link flare up and shudder between them.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered against his skin, “there are so many things I want to do with you.” 

When he was high on endorphins, Steve tended to babble at him things he never said otherwise. Bucky found himself curious, even regretful that Steve hid part of himself. Though Bucky always asked for what he wanted, Steve didn’t. Especially if it was something that brought him pleasure, as Steve was rather good at fulfilling his requests. But it was as if Steve was afraid to ask for things from Bucky, which was ridiculous. Bucky let him in, let him _touch_. After that, there were very few things he would refuse, if anything at all. 

When he had chosen Steve, he had given Steve the power others had scrabbled desperately to garner for decades. Though they had gotten it, between torture and temporary bonds, the hold was always shaky; the handlers would suppress it, Bucky suppressed it, or the handler broke the bond. There had been one who couldn’t produce a proper knot and didn’t manage to forge a temporary bond. They had Bucky beaten for that, but his handler was disgraced as an Alpha who couldn’t get it up for an Omega in heat. In the end, Bucky was okay with the trade off. 

Unlike all of them, Steve was a mate he had chosen, and whatever happened from now on, they belonged to each other. Bucky would cheerfully kill anyone trying to take Steve from him. He would also kill whoever Steve wanted him to, should he ever ask it of him. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling, to know Steve would only ask for it if there were no other choice. It was a curious thing to give all that power over himself to somebody who wanted none of it.

“What would you want to do with me?” Bucky asked quietly, tilting his head back and letting Steve have as much of his neck as he wanted. 

His Alpha release a quiet, growl that made Bucky shiver and clench down on the softening cock still inside him. Reaching between them, Bucky slid his hand between their legs where he was straddling Steve in the water, to his hole, still stretched over Steve’s shaft. He ran his fingers over the place they connected, before circling Steve’s cock as best as he could with his fingers, making it _stay_ inside him, not letting it slip out. What he wanted was that connection, the sense of vulnerability that came with having Steve inside him. 

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve shuddered, scraping his lips up Bucky’s exposed throat, “You ask like that and I think you’d let me do just about anything.”

“I like it,” Bucky insisted, clenching down again, making Steve exhale loudly. “I like you touching me,” leaning into Steve, he dragged his lips over Steve’s cheek, “and you always give me what I ask for.” 

Bucky had a particular weakness for Steve, flushed and panting after he trained. The scent of Steve’s sweat always excited him, always made him think of sex. Steve certainly hadn’t minded once.

“I like hunting you down after you finished your training and are all flushed and sweaty.” Bucky licked Steve’s lips, teasing, pulling back when Steve tried to deepen the kiss. “When you’re all pumped up, hot and slick from the shower. Soapy,” he breathed over Steve’s lips. “And you always let me fuck you under the shower, go so pliant and soft, letting me between those long legs of of yours…” 

This time it was Bucky who shuddered, remembering how it felt to press himself against Steve’s soapy, wet back and fit his cock between Steve’s absurdly hard cheeks. How it felt to push his cock into Steve’s tight heat and to hear the way he whined for it. It broke his brain a little every time he heard that sound. Steve so obviously enjoyed being fucked, came from it so easily, always agreeing to whatever Bucky suggested when it came to sex. However, he rarely asked for anything specific.

Having enough of of listening to Bucky’s teasing, Steve pulled Bucky closer, letting go of his cock and catching the back of his head. Holding Bucky still, he kissed him, hot and hard, deep, and so damn good.

“Why don’t you ask me for things?” Bucky gasped out against Steve’s lips. “The fantasies that make you go hot in an instant, the things you never admit to anybody?” 

Steve pulled back, framing Bucky’s face with his hands and leaving it to Bucky to hold himself in his lap.

“There are a lot of reasons,” Steve answered after a moment, gaze searching Bucky’s and he knew what Steve would ask before he did. “Which reason do you want to hear first?” 

“Of course you have more than one,” Bucky huffed. “Let’s start from the beginning, then,” he requested.

Steve smiled and Bucky knew he enjoyed the game. He pressed his lips to Steve’s neck, biting down briefly, waiting for Steve to speak.

“My first thought was,” he ran his finger down Bucky’s neck, making him shudder; he very rarely let people touch his throat, “that all those Alphas already made you do whatever they’d wanted. I don’t want to be another.”

Bucky pressed his knees harder against Steve’s hips, still mostly covered by his jeans, his fingers keeping Steve’s cock inside him to make sure he didn’t slip out. Only Steve’s cock, his hands, and his throat were bare, the only skin Bucky could get at since Steve was still fully dressed, just his pants open to free his cock. And Bucky wasn’t letting it go anytime soon.

“That’s completely irrelevant. You’re _asking_ me,” Bucky protested. “You really think anyone in Hydra ever bothered to _ask_ me anything?” 

Really, those two things were as different as day and night, how could Steve even think there was anything in common between Bucky being so out of his mind he didn't know up or down, didn’t realise he was a person most of the time, and _this_?

“I know,” Steve murmured, sliding a hand about Bucky’s neck and into his hair, combing out the wet strands, “I meant…” Steve chuckled and shook his head. “No, I don’t know what I mean. You know I worry.”

Bucky hummed.

“If you’re worried you’ll ask for something they did that I hated, you shouldn’t worry.”

“No?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head.

“It was always very straightforward, with me partially restrained since they couldn’t be sure if I wouldn’t snap at any second.” Steve’s arms tightened around him. “I killed a few Alphas early on that way, bit through one guy’s artery, so they started with the muzzle and the restraints. It was also painless and disappointingly short. So unless you completely refuse to fuck me, which would make me extremely displeased, you’ve already covered whatever ground they had that first time we had sex.” 

Bucky bit Steve’s neck, just above the mark, to ensure his Alpha realised how unhappy the lack of penetrative sex would make him. Then he bit again. Just to be sure. Steve let out a breath, shivering, but not once trying to keep Bucky from his throat, despite Bucky just confessing he knew how to kill him with just his teeth.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying you’ll compare me to them again,” Steve admitted.

“I never chose any of them. I chose you,” Bucky shrugged. It was always so simple to him, so goddamned obvious. Why didn’t Steve see it? Bucky wouldn’t be here if Steve was anything like his Hydra handlers. 

Except, he realized as he felt the bond flare with amused exasperation and the warm, full, fluttery lightness of Steve’s love, Steve had said _again_. 

“Steve,” Bucky said carefully. “If I ever truly thought you were anything like the Hydra Alphas that bonded me, I would be gone in an instant, not bonded to you. That first time we had sex, after Three Sisters, I knew you were different.”

Combing his hand through Bucky’s hair again, Steve pulled gently away from Bucky’s teeth.

“Maybe remind me of that more often?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“I’m here, Steve.” He moved his hips, tightening on Steve’s soft cock inside him. “I’m here of my own choice. If you see me, it should be a reminder enough.”

The flare of panic at Bucky words took him by surprise.

“Then if I fuck it up, you’ll be gone before I can fix it.”

Bucky stared. How in the goddamn hell did Steve latch onto that single word…?

“Steve,” Bucky said carefully. “We are bonded. If I’m not here, you can always track me down. Just like I would do if I lost sight of you. And if you fuck up? I will just rip you a new one,” Bucky explained as calmly as he could. The fact that he had come recently and was still in contact with Steve helped him keep his patience.

“That’s it?” Steve asked, sounding and feeling oddly relieved at being threatened.

“What did you expect? It’s not like I’m shy about calling you an idiot,” Bucky complained, beginning to feel grumpy.

Steve smiled, slow and sweet.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Next then,” Bucky said sliding his free hand over the clothed shoulder, bunching up the wet cotton. “You spout out way too much filth when you’re on the edge of coming, not to harbor some wicked fantasies.” 

With a sad sigh, Bucky pulled his hand away. Steve was completely soft now and it was impossible to keep him inside him when they sat in this position. The cock slipped out of him, leaving Bucky feeling empty, his hole clenching down on nothing. Steve let out a tiny, regretful exhale, too.

“Well,” Steve said carefully, the fluttery nervousness lacing the bond like it did when Steve was thinking about discussing the past with Bucky, “it wasn’t something anyone talked about when I was growing up. I’m not exactly used to it, or exactly comfortable just coming out and talking about them.”

“Okay, I waited, gave you examples, and nothing till now. I am asking you now: admit to one thing you wanted to ask me but never did.”

Steve slid one of his hands down Bucky’s back, to his ass, and then carefully between his cheeks. He was still shy about this, about touching Bucky after they’d had sex. Bucky knew it was mainly an Alpha thing, partly Steve’s kink, but the touch was always hesitant at the beginning. As if Steve was still afraid Bucky would reject it.

Bucky shifted, spreading his knees a little, giving Steve better access to his swollen hole. It didn’t take long before he felt questing fingertips there, just touching, feeling the slightly sore skin. If he waited long enough, Steve would probably put his fingers inside him. He usually did after they fucked, and Bucky had absolutely nothing against it.

“One thing,” Steve mused aloud.

“Well, you can say more if you feel like it. I just figured one would be easier to pull out of you,” Bucky interjected, and yes, he felt Steve’s finger push gently at the tightly furled ring of muscle, seeking entry.

Steve laughed, nuzzling against Bucky’s throat and marking himself with Bucky’s scent.

“I want,” he said nervously, “to…have you naked.” Steve swallowed. “I mean, for a good while, so I can enjoy you.” A second finger joined the first, careful and slow. “Keep you stuffed full,” Steve hesitated before he swallowed and obviously forced himself to vocalise, “touch you, whenever I want to. However I want to. Make you come like you’re in heat. Is that…the kind of thing what you wanted to hear?”

“Very good,” Bucky praised, sensing how insecure Steve felt, the tightness of his voice, the way his body stilled, indicating he was nervous and out of his element. It was a shame. Bucky could talk about Steve’s body for hours, if Steve didn’t start squirming uncontrollably and trying to change the topic after the first thirty seconds. “I feel like you haven’t been completely honest, that you prettied things up there, at the end.”

Steve chuckled, hugging Bucky before sitting back enough to brush a brief kiss over his lips.

“So, you want more, then?”

“Yes,” Bucky confirmed, trying to build a picture in his head. He was sure there was something specific Steve wanted but wasn’t admitting it.

Steve took a breath and nodded.

“Like, a day off. With just us, you naked and…” Bucky clenched down on the finger inside him, trying to encourage Steve to talk more. “And at my mercy. I mean, touching you whenever I want. Teasing you. Maybe, toys, like you said. The clamps, but…something inside you, too. Leave it there, so you’re completely full. Make you come over and over.” Smiling nervously, Steve curled his fingers against Bucky’s prostate and pressed them there, unmoving. “I just…wanna enjoy you every way I can think of. Watch you come so many times you can hardly move…”

Bucky licked his lips, turning that image over in his head. He liked being fucked, liked being full of Steve’s cock, his fingers, his tongue. He didn’t see much fun in toys that could be put inside him, them not being flesh, but if it was Steve who would do it, who would most certainly get off on it… Yeah, he could see that.

“You would like it?” Bucky asked. “Having me naked, waiting just for you, all of me accessible? All of my holes just waiting for you, open and ready? All day long?”

Steve flushed, eyes going wide, and nodded mutely. The fingers inside Bucky flexed, then withdrew, and a third finger joined the other two filling him up, making him gasp.

“Would you get dressed while I was there, naked and waiting? Would I be allowed to touch you, too?” Bucky asked, the image taking shape in his head. He shifted so that his balls pressed against Steve’s thigh. The rough jeans providing a harsh sensation that made goosebumps appear on his skin.

Licking his lips, blue eyes turning to nearly black, Steve shook his head, then blurted, “I mean, sometimes, and I’d wear something loose. Something easy to get in and out of. You’d be all stretched, though, all day, so when I couldn’t take just teasing you any more, I’d,” Steve’s fingers thrust into Bucky slow and easy, showing instead of saying.

Bucky hummed with the pleasure; he could definitely do that. Hell, he felt it could be a lot of fun, even with how submissive he would be in this scenario. It didn’t escape his attention that Steve wanted him in a position that wouldn’t allow him to leave easily, even without using restraints.

“I don’t like restraints and sex together; other than that I’m game. Do you want me to buy the toys, or will you buy them?”

Steve stared at him, a sense of shock, and perhaps awe coming from the bond.

“Really?” Steve asked, but it must have been rhetorical as he then shook his head. “I can do that and surprise you?”

Bucky smiled, slow and wicked.

“All right, then, you just have to ask.”

“Maybe next,” Steve began, but Bucky shook his head.

“No, don’t tell me when. You’re going to ask me to strip and wait for you naked, like you should have ages ago.”

Steve’s eyes were so wide now, dark with lust. He quite clearly liked what he had heard, even though there was still that thread of fear under the desire.

“Yeah,” Steve said, breathless and slowly pushing his fingers into Bucky over and over. 

Smirking Bucky, pushed back onto his Alpha’s fingers. He was starting to get interested again. They had talked long enough he was becoming hard again. Bucky leaned down to steal a kiss from him, pleased at the possibility of a second round, when he heard a distinctive chirp from the other side of the pool. His phone, signaling a text coming in. Only a handful of people knew this number and all of them knew he would hurt them if they used it for anything that wasn’t damn important. He groaned, pulling away from Steve’s lips and catching his hand. Tugging, Steve reacted immediately and retracted his fingers.

“I hate your damn phone,” Steve groaned.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, getting up and letting his metal arm start the process of drying out by shivering the plates violently, filling the space with the sound of rustling metal. “I have to get this.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. “You ever going to give me your number?”

“If I give it to you,” Bucky said carefully, “you have to swear not to use it to track me down, and no giving it to Tony or anybody else.”

“Pretty,” Steve laughed, “if I want to track you, I won’t use a damn phone.”

Bucky went to his clothes and fished out his second phone. The emergency one he couldn’t give to Steve, couldn't give to anyone who would use it in non-emergency situations. He had promised protection to his informants, and for that he needed to be available at any time; the emergency burner allowed that. Steve wouldn’t mind having the number of his second phone, the one he’d given Clint, he didn’t think. 

Unlocking his main phone, Bucky punched in Steve’s number and hit the call button. 

“Done,” he said drying himself with one of the towels from the classy cupboards along one of the walls.

“You’re lucky Tony made my phone waterproof,” Steve said with another laugh.

Bucky started dressing, fast, before unlocking his second phone to check the message. It was just an address and a time, but it was enough. He would need to leave now to circle to his safehouse and pick up some weapons, just in case. There shouldn’t be any trouble, he was just fishing for information right now, but it paid to be prepared.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” Steve said from where he was wringing out his shirt.

Pausing, Bucky glanced at his Alpha. Had he become that predictable? On the other hand, he hated it when Steve wasn’t around. His bondmate probably felt the same, hyper-aware of his absence.

“Yeah,” he admitted, feeling taken aback for some reason. “You will.”

Steve smiled at him and started yanking off his pants, probably to try to wring them out as well.

“Have fun trying to get to your floor naked or in soaked clothes,” Bucky said pulling on his shirt, and pocketing both phones.

“Jerk,” Steve mumbled, but not quietly enough he was trying to keep Bucky from hearing.

“A _dry_ jerk,” Bucky shot back, pulling on his shoes.

Though amusement shot through the bond, Steve huffed loudly.

“I’ll give you a dry jerk.” Louder, Steve said, “And see if I make extra for you to eat when you get back.”

“Ha! Like you would ever let me go hungry! You like me well-fed and pliant.”

“Didn’t you know?” Steve said sweetly, indeed wringing out his jeans as best he could without tearing them in half. “Bruce supplied us with plenty of protein shakes. He’s trying out a new nutrient blend. You’ll be _plenty_ fed.”

Bucky laughed at the challenging tone in Steve voice.

“Do your worst, Steve!” Bucky called over his shoulder as he left the pool. “Just remember, if you only feed me that protein slop I might be too unhappy to have sex, and what will you do then?” 

“Oh no!” he heard Steve call. “Whatever will I do? Oh, _wait_. I have hands for that.”

“Yeah, I know you have hands. I also know what you like to use them for,” Bucky answered, already at the door. 

“You’re the one that needs the sex, pretty,” Steve hollered, followed swiftly by proving Bucky’s point. “I love you; stay safe and call if you need me.”

Bucky laughed all the way to the elevator.


	3. Chapter 3

On his fifth lap of the park, Steve slowed to jog by Sam’s side. He felt a little guilty using his friend’s workout as his cool-down and warm-up, but Sam never seemed to complain. On the contrary, he was the one who always pushed Steve into their morning routine when Steve’s conviction was wavering. Steve appreciated that, needed the distraction in the morning when all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, but couldn’t.

“Done, Superman?” Sam asked breathlessly. “Don’t wanna take another lap? Or did I just miss you doing it?”

“You never get tired of that joke, do you?” Steve asked.

“No,” Sam said, “Not when it still amuses you.”

Steve chuckled, because it was true. Every time he heard Sam’s stupid joke, which was every morning, he smiled.

“How’s you and Edmond Dantes?”

If Steve hadn’t been a supersoldier, he would have tripped at a reference he actually understood. Then again, if he hadn’t been a supersoldier he wouldn’t be running with Sam, let alone living.

“Count of Monte Cristo?” Steve asked, surprised coloring his voice. “And Bucky is Edmond? Does that make me Mercedes?”

“I’d say you’re more Maximilien Morrel.” Sam paused, snorted and said, “Or Abbe Faria.”

“The mad priest?” Steve exclaimed. “No way. He is as fucking crazy as Tony. I’ll take the younger Morrel any day.”

Sam snorted and they parted to run around a young woman pushing a stroller.

“You would. Young, honorable, free of vices,” Sam wiggled his eyebrows, “Gets the girl.”

Steve snorted out a laugh.

“Bucky is not a girl, for one thing. Probably look good in a dress though.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve was rewarded for his comment by the face Sam pulled. 

“Man, I do _not_ want to know what kinky shit Captain America thinks about at night when he’s alone with his left hand.”

“Bucky doesn’t leave me alone,” Steve began, but Sam shoved him, straight into the bushes lining the path through the part of Central Park they were in. Though his own laughter cut him off, Steve was able to easily recover, leap the hedges, then return the path again. Not even a scrape or a bruise. A shove like that, at one time, would have left him sprawled on the ground and bloody.

Sam shot him a glare.

“I see how it is. I find a reference you understand so you torture me with your sex life.”

Steve smirked.

“I’m ninety-six. Gotta get my jollies when I can.”

“That was another sex joke, wasn’t it?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Steve said, “Yes, it was.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam turned them down a side path in the Park and started them on their way back.

“So why are you here, running with me and not with him?” Sam asked.

Steve winced, only realizing he had sped up to literally avoid the question when Sam shouted obscenities at his back. Slowing down again, he rejoined his friend and smiled ruefully at the well-deserved glare he received.

“Well?” Sam demanded.

Sighing, Steve said, “He’s not at the tower. Left late last night; hasn’t come back yet,”

Sam stopped, forcing Steve to stop too or leave him behind.

“And you don’t know where he is?”

Steve shook his head, knowing what Sam was worried about.

“He’ll come back,” he reassured, “He just…does this sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Sam asked, starting up their jog again. “You’ve been bonded a month. How often is sometimes.”

Falling easily back into pace with his friend, Steve shrugged.

“Every day. He always comes back,” he rushed to add, “but he doesn’t say where he goes, what he’s doing.”

Sam gave him a pointed look.

“Do you _ask_?” 

“I did, the first couple times,” Steve answered, “He doesn’t want to talk about it. I don’t push.”

“Uh huh,” Sam said skeptically.

Steve felt his metaphorical feathers ruffle.

“You gonna tell me I need to ask for things more often, too?”

Both Sam’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline. So startled, he tripped over a crack in the path and Steve had to steady him. 

“Did he say that to you?” Sam asked, nodding his thanks.

Steve shrugged.

“More or less.”

“Well, he’s right,” Sam said, and Steve couldn’t stop the heat that creeped up his neck. “You never put any importance on your own needs, put everyone else first, and it’s not healthy.”

Steve glared at Sam, not wanting to hear this lecture from him again at six in the morning. Especially not wanting to hear it after Bucky had pointed it out. Bucky, who had so much healing to do, and was still pointing out ways Steve needed to heal himself.

As usual, Sam was having none of it. He glared right back.

“All right, spill,” Sam demanded, “When did he point out the obvious to you?”

Steve’s mouth twisted in a crooked, tiny smile that morphed into a sigh.

“A few days ago, right before,” Steve grimaced. Even in his head he hated referencing the last time he and Bucky had actually had a conversation. Oh, they were still having sex. Plenty of it, but afterwards Bucky would leave, doing god-only-knew what, with god-only-knew who. If Steve hadn’t understood Bucky wouldn’t be having any sex with him at all, that he expressed his affection through the act, he’d think the Omega was going to leave him.

“I’m gonna guess that sentence ends with right before you started moping.”

Though he knew it would give him away, Steve grimaced again.

“Then Tony was right?” Sam pressed. “Barnes is the reason you’ve been pulling your sad golden retriever act all over the tower?”

“I swear to Christ,” Steve cursed, “if Tony calls me a dog one more time…”

Sam laughed.

“Hey, man, chill,” he said, holding up his hands placatingly, “Don’t take it out on him. You have been pouting lately. Not to mention the extra jobs you took on with S.H.I.E.L.D. Natasha is considering staging another intervention.”

Steve groaned.

“I’m fine. I’m just…a little lonely, ‘s’all. Bucky’s been…avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” Sam repeated blandly. “And leaving all the time?”

“It’s not like that,” Steve defended his Omega, though he actually wasn’t sure what Sam was alluding to, “We’re still having sex. I mean, a lot of sex,” Sam made a face, “so he’s not upset with me, or planning on leaving. He’s just…dealing with something and wants to do it on his own.”

Sam shook his head.

“Man, it’s a partnership. You’re not supposed to be dealing with anything on your own. Togetherness.”

“Why are you telling _me_?” Steve asked pointedly.

“Have you actually sat down and told Bucky his behavior is hurting you?” Sam pressed, obviously not believing Steve was looking out for his own good again.

“It’s not…hurting me,” Steve said. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure him. He’s dealing with a lot, and he’s trying so hard. He asks for things, you know? And he…tries to think in terms of what I want, too. He was adamant about having his own space, but he still wanted me to mark it. This? It feels like… Like I’d be telling him it’s not good enough. That he’s gotta do more, you know? And he _doesn’t_. I can wait, it’s not like… He didn’t out-and-out say it, but he didn’t want to talk about it when I asked.”

Sam was giving him a look he didn’t recognize, so Steve stopped, both of them breathing hard.

“What?” he demanded.

“That was shockingly emotionally mature of you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve grumbled.

“No, I mean it,” Sam said, hands on his hips. “You asked, he said he didn’t want to talk about it, you’re giving him space.” Sam looked away as Steve flushed, respectfully giving him a moment to recover from the praise. “You know, maybe it’s a good time for you to find something for you. Something that means your whole life doesn’t revolve around work and Bucky.”

“Like?” Steve said tiredly. This sounded a lot like the hobby conversation he’d had with Natasha.

“I can’t answer that,” Sam said, “but you know I’m right. Your life cannot revolve around your mate and work. You’re going to drive yourself, Bucky and the rest of us crazy. You need something that’s yours.” Sam looked at him again, serious and solemn. “When was the last time _you_ had something that was yours, no one else’s?”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, surprised at how far back he had to think. After the ice, he’d belonged to everyone. After Erskine died, he’d belonged to Senator Brandt, then to the Commandos. Before that? Before the serum? It still hadn’t been much.

“My apartment in Brooklyn,” Steve answered quietly, “the comics I’d draw for the local… Art school.” 

Surprise shone on Sam’s face as his eyebrows rose.

“You drew comics?” 

Steve ruffled his own hair, looking down at his feet.

“Under a pseudonym. It wasn’t anything special. Paid the bills.”

“Sure it did,” Sam said, letting him get away with not saying anything more this time. “Point is though, that was a long time ago. You gotta find something for now, Steve.”

“And you’re no help with that.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“It ain’t my job to hand you all the answers. You’re gonna have to get there like everyone else: figure it the fuck out.”

Shaking his head, Steve gestured for them to start heading back to the tower. 

“Easier said than done.”

Snorting, Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder and said, “You’re Captain Impossible. You’ll be fine.”

\----

Steve woke to the sound of the bathroom door opening. Though he couldn’t remember it, he figured he must have dozed off again after the very enthusiastic morning sex Bucky had wanted. It certainly wasn’t a hardship to wake up to curious hands sliding over his back, a muscled leg pressing between his thighs, a warm and relaxed weight settling over him, and humming a question in his ear. It was a luxury, having Bucky so relaxed, touching Steve with desire, so sure of his welcome. Feeling that heavy, thickening cock settle between his cheeks, as Bucky murmured filthy, exciting things into his ear made Steve go from zero to sixty once his brain caught up to what was happening. 

It felt good to have that closeness. To have Bucky sleeping with him and initiating things. His mere presence made resting so very different. Steve no longer tossed and turned half the night, his overly efficient body requiring less sleep than normal, leaving him a lot of time to think, to remember, and really feel all his regrets. Bucky had changed that. He slept like a log once he fell asleep. Bucky was quiet and still, almost eerily so, but he was _there_. Beside Steve and that…that changed things. Steve rarely spent hours dwelling on his past anymore. He became distracted by the soft breathing beside him, the heat that Bucky radiated, or by thoughts very different from his usual kaleidoscope. He go tto wrap himself around his mate, impossible when he was awake. Bucky rarely held still long enough for Steve to truly get to cuddle him, but asleep? He was very willing to cuddle. Steve didn’t think he was even aware of how he always uncurled to let Steve closer, fit in, and wrap his arms around Bucky’s form. More often than not, Steve was asleep minutes after he wrapped himself around his Omega, his nose full of their combined scent. There was a quiet sense of happiness to it, one he didn’t know he was missing until he had it.

Opening his eyes, Steve guessed, from the cloud of steam that exited with his Omega, Steve must have been asleep while he showered. Bucky’s hair was still wet, curling around his forehead and cheeks, hanging in long, dark strands about his neck. Stretching slowly, letting his body unfurl, Steve watched as Bucky looked his way, smiled, and set about getting dressed. Combat trousers, a black shirt, knives tucked into every hidden place he could think of and more that had never occurred to Steve. When he sat down on the bed, he pulled over his combat boots and Steve closed his eyes again, breathing carefully to stem his disappointment before it became too noticeable.

Bucky was leaving again.

Reaching across the bed, Steve loosely wrapped his hand about Bucky’s metal arm. Running his thumb over the wrist, where the pulse would have been had the arm had one, he caught his mate’s full attention. Like a light switch, or being caught in a spotlight. He was his mate’s full focus, and that had yet to fail to make his breath catch.

“You ever gonna tell me where you keep going off to?” Steve asked, keeping his voice low. Bucky’s anger still hadn’t returned, hadn’t filled him to burning yet, and Steve didn’t want to be the cause of its return.

Bucky’s hand closed over his own and squeezed, something fast and unreadable flickering through the bond. Bucky lowered his eyes for a moment before looking up into Steve’s eyes again.

“I will,” Bucky said quietly.

“Eventually?” Steve clarified.

“Yes.”

Pulling both Bucky’s metal hand and his flesh one to him, Steve kissed both and nodded. Bucky let him, going easily with the movement. Not shying away, no tension in his body, wanting Steve’s affection, his attention, like he wanted no one else’s.

“Okay.”

Surprise lit the bond, along with pleasure that explained why Bucky squeezed his hand again a moment later. Steve smiled slowly, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. Letting go of Bucky’s wrist, he stretched again. He didn’t _want_ Bucky to go, but he was still certain he needed to let his Omega do whatever it was he needed to to come to terms with…whatever it was that was going on in his head. So long as Bucky knew Steve was waiting, he didn’t see any reason not to give Bucky all the time and space he needed.

Problem was, now that Bucky was gone, Steve didn’t have anything to do. There was work, or training, but that just brought him back to his conversation with Sam. Maybe he was right, maybe Steve did invest too much time into his work and his mate and too little on himself. Maybe he needed to be a little more ‘selfish,’ as Natasha would say. 

Only, what the hell did he want to do?

Folding his hands behind his head, Steve stared at the ceiling. Back before the war, he would have gone to class, or worked on his latest deadline, or the part-time job he had picked up. Which was still a job, goddamnit. Had he always been such a workaholic?

When he’d done the circuit for Senator Brandt, he’d spent time with the girls, escorting them to bars and the like. That had been a lot of fun, but he didn’t think any Broadway chorus girls would appreciate his presence like that these days. Then during the war...

Steve sat up, tracing the seam of the comforter. It had been a while since he’d given his bike a tune up, or bought anything for it. Tony had vaguely mentioned that he could rebuild Steve’s bike for him but Steve instinctively refused. He had always liked taking care of the bike himself. Motorcycles weren’t all that complicated machines, at least not the kinds Steve favored. There was a certain satisfaction, knowing how to fix it, how to make it run again after it stalled, after it was damaged, or something gave. 

Maybe, he could spend a little money on his bike. Someone had mentioned that custom parts were common these days and he’d always admired the intricate leather seats some of the guys had had back in the day. There wasn’t any reason he couldn’t get one for himself. He had the money, he had some free time, and he didn’t need anyone’s help navigating the city. 

“JARVIS?” Steve asked before he remembered the A.I. wasn’t in Bucky’s room. Took him a year to get used to it, but now it was weird not having him around. Still, he had a plan. He could get ready, head up down to the garage and ask JARVIS where he could find a parts shop on the way.

Standing, Steve thanked the future for endless hot water, and went to take his own shower. Later, after a ride through the Lincoln Tunnel, Steve was in West New York, standing outside a small mom and pop retailer. According to JARVIS, they both sold accessories and gear, and ran a small mechanic’s outfit in the back. It was, honestly not what Steve expected. Opening the door, it reminded him of every other specialty shop in the new millennium: neat, clean, ordered to perfection, and created to sell as much product as possible. 

Steve hated it. 

However, he was here and he had a purpose. He could at least look around. There was fancy gear displayed on even fancier shelves and in cases, far too pretty to be priced for quality. He found customised stands, exhaust pipes and saddlebags with incredible designs, and simple riders’ accessories. Gloves, helmets, and jackets in all shapes and colors, each fancier than the last. Hell, there were even customised tools on display in the most intense, neon colors he had ever seen. 

There were only a few other customers in the store. An older, grey-haired Beta looking at hot pink wrenches and a younger Alpha with dark hair perusing the saddle bags. Steve finally found the book for custom saddles on the counter, behind which stood a young woman with hair the same shade of pink as the ridiculous tools.

Though, Tony might like those tools. Steve would have to come back at Christmas.

“It takes more love to share the saddle than it does to share the bed.”

Steve started, looking up to find the younger Alpha standing next to him, peering down at the page Steve had opened to. He smelled heady, like grease and dirt and sex, but there was another scent mingling with it. Beta, if Steve’s nose was right. The bond mark, white against his olive skin, was obvious beneath the Alpha’s ear, said there was likely to be another. He was dressed in black riding pants, a dark grey tee-shirt with some logo on the chest, and a white jacket with black trim. He was a little shorter than Steve, but heavily built, with broad shoulders, a square torso, and thick legs.

“Um, sorry?” Steve asked, trying to be polite because he didn’t understand what the guy was getting at. “I’m, um, not even sure if my bonded rides, if that’s what you mean.”

The smile that stretched over the guy’s thin lips could only be described as the cat that had cornered the canary. 

“It wasn’t,” the Alpha said, turning so he could meet Steve’s gaze. His eyes were as dark as Tony’s, if happier. “Have you been riding long?”

Steve nodded, tentatively smiling back.

“A few years. Bought myself my first bike as, um, soon as I got out of the service.”

“Thank you for your service,” the Alpha said instantly, but with enough gravity that he meant the words. 

Shifting uncomfortably, Steve nodded and changed the subject.

“You’re looking for something here?” Steve asked, indicating the whole of the shop.

“Yeah, was looking for new saddlebags. Can’t decide if I like the pink rhinestone, or the one with little pink skulls stitched all over it.” 

Steve stared, but the Alpha was completely serious. Slowly, Steve smiled, because the guy was as tall as Steve and, while not as broad, certainly muscular. The kind of Alpha the stereotypes were built around.

“Pink your favorite color, or something?” Steve asked.

The sharp look that flashed through the Alpha’s eyes was assessing, judging whether or not Steve was mocking.

“Green, actually,” the Alpha answered, returning Steve’s smile. “James Bracco. I do customs and needed the right saddle bag for my customer. My friends call me Jim.”

Steve blinked, the information coming at him in an order only Tony would have understood.

“Um, Steve. And I hear the pink skulls are in?”

Jim nodded.

“Good taste. What are you looking for, exactly?”

“Not sure,” Steve admitted. “I don’t really buy stuff for me, but I thought…”

“Treat yourself?” Jim asked, his gaze understanding.

Steve nodded and Jim turned more fully towards him, giving every indication that he was offering his full attention. 

“So, what’s your favorite color then?” 

“Er, blue,” Steve answered, “but I think I’d just like something in leather. Some tooling, maybe?”

“Ah, you’re a man of classic style,” Jim said and Steve’s face began to heat up. “This doesn’t seem like the right place for you.” 

There was a teasing tone to the Alpha’s voice, an inviting tilt to his eyes.

“Then, um, where is the right place?” Steve asked gamely.

Jim looked him up and down and Steve’s ears turned pink along with his cheeks. Okay, so the Alpha _was_ flirting. It couldn’t mean anything, though, not if he was bonded and he had to know Steve was, too.

“My shop.” 

“Your shop…?” Steve repeated warily.

“Yep. You know how it goes. You get a bike. Then you get a second bike…then a third. By the fourth, it was a choice between opening a shop and actually doing something with what I learned, or resign myself to the sad life of a hoarder.” 

Jim shook his head tragically.

“What’s a hoarder?” Steve asked curiously.

“You’ve never watched Hoarders?” Jim asked with the air of everyone in this millenium when Steve wasn’t up to the cultural norm. “You should, it’s terrifying.”

“I should watch it because it’s terrifying?” Steve repeated.

Jim laughed.

“No, you should watch it because it’s fascinating, but I promise you, after you do, you’ll clear your house of any and all clutter out of fear of becoming a hoarder.”

“Okay,” Steve said, still not understanding, but he wasn’t sure it mattered. “Why should I come to your shop? There’s half a book here I haven’t looked at.” 

“Then go look. I guarantee you’ll come back to me in the time I buy the rhinestones.”

Despite his embarrassment, Steve found himself smiling at the man’s confidence.

“Do you always go trolling for customers in other people’s shops?”

“Nah,” Jim said, sauntering toward the saddlebags, “just when they’ve got an ass like that.“

There was a ping from Steve’s pocket a moment later. His phone, notifying him of an incoming message. Blushing hard, he fished it out of his pocket and knew he was grinning stupidly the moment he read Bucky’s name.

**Buckitty** : what did you do 

Steve snorted.

**Steve** : I didn’t do anything! He said my ass is nice!

The answer came almost immediately.

**Buckitty** : So? It is.

**Buckitty** : wait. is it tony? smack him.

Rolling his eyes, Steve knew Bucky would feel his burst of exasperation and was immediately amused by it.

**Buckitty** : smack hard.

**Steve** : It wasn’t Tony. He says his name is Jim. He says he has a seat for my bike I’ll like

**Buckitty** : Steve. Do you have a fetish I don’t know about? Another James? 

**Steve** : No, but you’re my favorite James

**Buckitty** : it better stay that way.

Steve hesitated before typing his reply, not sure if Bucky would find the text amusing.

**Steve** : If that’s a threat, you owe me amazing sex. If you actually think it’ll change, you REALLY owe me amazing sex.

The bond flared, Bucky’s emotions easy to pick up simply because it meant the anger faded for a moment. Pride, happiness, and something like curiosity. The text had definitely been a good idea.

**Buckitty** : When, where and what position.

Ears turning pink once more, Steve realized he’d kind of asked for that, and took a moment to reply, mostly cause he couldn’t help the waves of embarrassment as he typed out the response.

**Steve** : Tonight? In your tub. I’m riding you.

Jim was watching him, a grin on his face.

“Are you sexting right now?” 

Steve opened his mouth, but couldn’t say anything because he was. He was sending texts about sex. He blushed so hard his face hurt.

“I…”

“My god, I have never seen an Alpha blush as much as you, or as cutely.”

“I, um, well, my bonded is a little territorial.”

The phone chirped again then and Steve glanced down at the screen.

**Buckitty** : What are you doing?

“They say Alphas are territorial,” Jim said knowingly as Steve typed out a reply to Bucky, “but they’ve got nothing on Omegas if you ask me. At least we only get fussed during a rut.”

**Steve** : I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s funny that I’m blushing because he’s flirting with me

“I never thought of it that way,” Steve said aloud, “but when you put it like that, they kind of are.”

**Buckitty** : no touching.

**Steve** : I would NEVER

“So?” Jim pressed and Steve looked up to find him a little closer, the saddle back with pink rhinestones on it under one arm. “You figure out I’m your guy yet?”

“You’re my,” Steve sputtered. “I mean, um, you know what? Sure. Let’s go. I’d like to see what you have.”

Jim grinned.

“I bet you would.”

**Buckitty** : He tries to touch, you break his hands.

“I, um,” Steve floundered. 

Jim laughed.

“Come on. It’s a few blocks from here. You can follow along.”

Steve followed, glancing once at the cashier who had never even asked if he needed help, and out the door. As he went, he typed out his response to Bucky and looked up to see Jim standing by the sleek, black and silver bike he’d parked beside. An intricate host of fantastic, fanged, butterflies was painted onto the side and tank. He noticed it when he parked, the painting looking so innocent and sweet until one actually looked closely. Then it became obvious that the butterflies had mouths full of long, wicked teeth. It was sexy, not that Steve would _admit_ such a thing, and had a mysterious aura of danger and humor, because who the hell painted butterflies on his motorcycle?

Absently, he hit send.

**Steve** : No, but I won’t let him either.

“You like it,” Jim said with a smirk. “Which one’s yours?”

“Uh,” Steve motioned to his big, 1945 restored Harley Jim was standing next to as his phone went off again.

**Buckitty** : good

Steve pocketed the phone and focused on Jim.

“I knew you were a classic guy. You buy this, or build it?”

“Bought it,” Steve admitted. “I would have loved to have restored it, but when I came back I kind of needed a ride sooner than that would have allowed.”

“Makes sense,” Jim said, grabbing his helmet and pulling it over his head. “Come on.”

Grabbing his own helmet, not that he needed it, Steve straddled his bike and kicked it to life. It was probably a little crazy to follow a stranger out of a perfectly good bike shop, but Steve didn’t care. Jim was funny, irreverent if the butterflies meant anything, and Steve would always rather jump into the unknown than pick something boring.

They made it to the shop in less than half an hour. The street was industrial, few commercial shops in sight. The two storey building Jim pulled up in front of had seen better days, but looked to be well maintained. White and black, the shop front was glass and there was a garage attached to the side. “Jim’s Leather” and a phone number beneath had been lettered on the door, but there was no other signage. Steve wasn’t sure how Jim got business.

Steve climbed off his own bike and looked questioningly from Jim to the suggestive name of the shop. Jim smiled like a shark, waggling his eyebrows a little. It was, all in all, a ridiculous expression.

“Scared?” Jim taunted, gesticulating with his helmet that he still had in his hands.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Of what? The neighborhood, or your poor sense of humor?” He gestured at the door. “I’m pretty sure there’s a fetish bar named the same thing.”

Jim snorted like a horse.

“Hey, don’t diss my shop. There are people who would make you suffer if they heard you!”

“People who need to take a trip to that fetish bar, then. Loosen up.”

“Well, I’m not the one that sees word ‘leather’ and thinks ‘fetish’.” Jim teased, rooting in his pocket for what turned out to be the keys. He let out a small, “Ha!” of triumph as he pulled them out.

“No, you’re worse. It’s what you want _other_ people to think.”

“Me?” Jim said with faux surprise. “Never! I’m just a hardworking small business owner. Never even heard of such a thing as ‘fetish’.” 

“Uh-huh.” Steve shook his head at Jim’s antics, watching as he stuck the key in the door and turned it. “You don’t fool me for a second.”

“Maybe half of one?” Jim asked, shoving the door open.

The first thing Steve noticed when Jim opened the door was the _smell_. The scent of cured leather was strong and it made him both nostalgic and excited. There were so few things made of actual leather these days, far different from the New York he had grown up in. The scent of leather had been everywhere, on everybody. The smell also reminded him of when he had fit in, of the War and the Commandos. As terrible as that War had been, it was also when he had found himself, found his purpose and people who believed in him. It was when he had gotten, and learned to work on, his motorcycle. It wasn’t as if there had been a shop that could fix it if it got broken. It was either do it himself, or lose it. Steve had learned fast how to take care of his ride, and he missed it. Missed fixing all the little things that got broken when riding through winter woodlands in Europe. Well, except for when the things getting broken were because of bullets.

When he’d first woken up, he’d thought he could share his love for tinkering with Tony, but the Omega was a genius engineer. As nice as Tony tried to be, Steve just wasn’t anywhere close to his level. It was like having a toddler and a sprinter race; no contest at all. And Steve was so busy with work, busy with S.H.I.E.L.D. missions, and all the damned paperwork, he didn’t even get a chance to ride all that often. That a bike that just sat in its parking space was a damn sad sight.

“Welcome to my kingdom,” Jim declared, spreading his arms as Steve entered behind him.

The shop itself wasn’t large. A small counter sat to the left with a register and a stack of papers on top. Behind it, Steve could see another set of doors. Opposite the counter, was a third set of plain wooden doors he guessed led out to the garage. On the walls, from top to bottom, were simple wooden shelves filled to bursting with leather accessories. There were saddles tooled with popular images, skulls and guns and thorny roses, all beautifully detailed. Wicked and humorous tank covers were carved with leather dragon scales, or constructed with pockets of different shapes and sizes. The colors were surprisingly wide ranging, not simply black and brown. 

In the farthest corner of the room, resting on a simple wooden shelf was a saddle that immediately caught Steve’s attention. Every inch was carved leather, black and rich brown. Flowers and vines at the end, meeting delicately carved diagonal hatches in the center, and more swirling leaves at the top. Even from this distance the detail was exquisite, every petal and leaf carved lovingly.

“You like it?” Jim asked.

The question jerked Steve from his contemplation of the saddle, and he looked up to see the man, now jacketless, leaning on the small counter on the opposite side of the shop. Without the jacket, Steve could see Jim was even fitter than he’d suspected. Either he hit the gym every day, or working around a garage was better exercise than he thought.

“I… It’s beautiful,” Steve said, gaze returning to the beautifully crafted saddle.

Jim chuckled.

“I knew you would go for this one.” 

“It looks expensive,” Steve said hesitantly. While he wanted to buy something for himself, he wasn’t sure about an expense of this kind.

Out of nowhere, Jim said, “It’s free if you want it.” 

Steve jerked his eyes to the Alpha, sure he hadn’t heard right.

“I’m sorry?”

“If you like it, I’ll give it to you, as a gift,” Jim repeated calmly, watching Steve with a small smile on his face.

“What?” Steve looked around the small shop. While it looked well stocked, it wasn’t as shiny, or as big, as the one they were in before. Steve was sure Jim wasn’t rich enough to just give away things like this for free. “You shouldn’t just… You don’t even know me.”

“Calm down,” Jim said spreading his arms in a calming gesture. “It’s already paid for.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“There’s a story connected with that saddle.” The smile on Jim’s face faded away slowly. “A sad one, unfortunately. You want to hear it?”

Steve cast his eyes towards the intricate saddle and then back to Jim.

“Yes,” he agreed simply.

Jim nodded, leaning his crossed forearms back on the shop counter.

“About eight months ago, a woman came into my shop asking for a custom job for her fiance. She knew his likes and dislikes, brought me a host of reference pictures. They were going to get married after he came back from his tour in Afghanistan.”

“Were?” Steve questioned, sensing now why the story was billed as being sad.

Jim smiled, a wan little thing that faded as soon as it appeared.

“He never came home. Died just days before the end of his tour. His girlfriend came round a few weeks later, returning the saddle. I tried to give her the money back, but she didn't want it. Said she couldn’t stand to look at the thing, but couldn't just throw it out, either. She told me to give it to somebody.”

Frowning, Steve shoved his hands into his pockets.

“And you hadn’t till now?”

“Nobody struck me as both deserving and appreciative enough,” Jim said, pushing away from the counter and going to the shelf where the saddle rested. He touched it briefly, running his fingers over the intricate designs. “It was made for a man with a love for classic lines. For a soldier. Haven’t met anybody like that ‘til now.”

Steve wondered if it was because he was Captain America, but Jim hadn’t given any indication of recognizing him. He was funny and personable, no hint of awe, or the shyness people usually displayed at recognizing him. It felt odd, strange even, to realise Jim wanted to give the saddle, the gift, to Steve Rogers, not Captain America.

“Why me?” Steve had to ask.

“The way you look at it,” Jim answered, without any hesitation. “You’ll treat it with the respect it deserves.” He shrugged. “And you look like a guy that could do with something pretty.”

Steve smiled at the unintentional reference to his mate. 

“You have any conditions?” Steve asked, deciding to stop hesitating and let this stranger do something nice for him.

Jim nodded. 

“One. I want you to come meet my club on Saturday. They were sure I would never give the saddle away, and I want to rub their noses in it a little.”

Steve laughed.

“And what does your club do?”

There was a slow smile stretching over Jim’s face, toothy and wide, a twinkle sparkling in his eye.

“We take part in informal motocross races in a small track down on Long Island. There’s a company out there that leases this land in a park. They change up the track every once in awhile, don’t charge very much to let us ride.”

Steve blinked.

“Motocross,” he repeated, not knowing what the word meant.

“Yeah, off-road,” Jim explained, nodding his head for emphasis. “Trees, water, sand traps, mud traps. If you aren’t filthy up to your eyebrows afterwards, you’re doing it wrong.”

“And you take those,“ Steve indicated the myriad of beautiful designs, “to get filthy and muddy?”

Jim puffed up like an offended cat. 

“Of course not!” he protested. “I have an offroad bike for motocross!”

“Good,” Steve said with a slow smile. “Otherwise I’d have to steal the lot to protect it.”

Laughing, Jim shook his head.

“Sure you would, boy scout. So, you need help with changing that saddle or what?”

Steve shook his head.

“Could use a place to work.”

Jim’s grin was infectious.

“Got just the place. This way.”

\---

When Steve got home, he’d been exhausted. It had been a long time since he’d spent that much time with anyone outside the Avenger’s just…having fun. He’d was at Jim’s for hours talking about bikes and motocross and anything else that had come to mind. They’d grabbed lunch while installing his saddle, talked about upgrades and customs, shops and rides around the country. Like when he’d met Sam, becoming friends with Jim was shockingly easy, despite the man’s designation. Perhaps it was because they were both bonded, but neither had even come close to challenging the other.

Afterward, it had been hard to come home to an empty apartment. He’d wanted to see Bucky, to tell him about his day, about Jim and motocross. However, Bucky still needed space. Needed time to deal with whatever it was that was plaguing his mind. When he needed Steve, he’d be there. In the meantime, he’d settle for curling up in Bucky’s - theirs? they hadn’t really discussed it - bed with Netflix.

It was pitch black in his room when Steve woke. Someone had turned off the television, likely the same person hovering over his chest. Steve was still on his back, the remote in one hand. Bucky, because who else would it be, gently pulled it from his grip and set it on the bedside table.

“Hey,” Steve mumbled. “Time s’it?”

“Little after two,” Bucky murmured, lips brushing Steve’s temple, down his cheek to his jaw. 

Humming his approval, Steve reached for Bucky’s waist. Holding on to his hip, he let Bucky kiss, then sniff at his jaw, his throat, behind his ear. It was nice up until the point he sniffed down Steve’s arm to his hand, kissed the palm, and Steve figured out just what he was doing.

“Trying to determine if I was unfaithful?” Steve asked as he pulled his hand away.

“No,” Bucky said quickly, snatching up Steve’s other hand and sniffing, then kissing the palm, “seeing if I have to punch some guy’s teeth in since you wouldn’t.”

Steve blinked up at his mate, tired enough that Bucky’s meaning didn’t translate immediately.

“You sayin’,” Steve asked slowly, “that you want to defend my honor?”

Bucky paused in his kiss-sniff pattern up Steve’s arm and nodded.

“Someone touches you without permission, it’s the last thing they do.”

Oddly touched, Steve lifted the hand he’d recently yanked from Bucky’s grip and carded it through his hair.

“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” he murmured, turning his head as Bucky reached his neck again. Lips brushed his pulse, his scent glands, then sucked gently on his ear lobe. Shivers raced up Steve’s spine and he tugged Bucky closer.

“I can take care of myself,” Bucky argued, lips brushing behind Steve’s ear.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“And I can’t?”

“Won’t,” Bucky corrected, “but that’s all right. You don’t have to.”

“Mmm,” Steve hummed, getting a better grip on his mate and pulling so that he sprawled over Steve’s chest. Wrapping his arm around Bucky’s waist Steve held hun against him and let out a long, contented sigh. “Missed you today.”

“You miss me every day,” Bucky grumbled.

“You miss me?” Steve asked.

Instead of answering immediately, Bucky pressed a hand to either side of Steve’s face, holding him still. Steve couldn’t help but smile, knowing what was coming since it wasn’t the first time Bucky had done this. Without the Alpha scent glands in his wrists, the only way to scent mark Steve was to rub against him like a cat, pressing his jaw and neck to against any part of Steve he could get to.

When all Steve could smell was Bucky, his mate sat back and brushed their lips together.

“I missed you, too,” Bucky offered, quiet and hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure how the words would be received. Perhaps nervous at how vulnerable it left him to admit he could miss Steve at all. Steve just pulled him down into another kiss, longer, lingering over his lips.

He could wait, however long it took. So long as he could wake up to this every day, and look forward to it every night, it would be worth it. Bucky was worth it.


	4. Chapter 4

When Michael’s doorbell rang, he had hoped it was Natasha dropping by for one of her unannounced visits. Maybe Bucky, though he normally texted before he came over. They were the only two people who had ever dropped by without warning, and he couldn’t help but get his hopes up. He still made sure his fridge was fully stocked because they could and would eat anything he had at home. Bucky was heavily biased towards the sweets, and Natasha… Well, Nat was basically a human vacuum, not that anybody would know that from watching her.

What he didn’t expect was to open the door to the Alpha smell of Steve Rogers.

Dressed in a black leather jacket - probably stolen from Bucky from the look of it - a red cap, and dark aviator sunglasses, he looked uncomfortable. Well, uncomfortable was putting it mildly; he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Michael felt the same, he wanted Steve to be anywhere but on his doorstep. He had done the nice thing, the polite thing, and hadn’t gone to the tower again, instead inviting Bucky into his home. Rogers was clearly extremely territorial, or just insecure if he’d felt compelled to chase him all the way to New Jersey. Personally, Michael didn’t have problems with Alphas in his territory, but that was a personal quirk of his and not a common one, either.

“Hi, um,” Steve pulled one huge hand from his coat and gestured toward the street where a white car had pulled up and someone was snapping photos as quickly as he could hit the shutter, “I picked them up leaving New York and I couldn’t shake ‘em, so, could you invite me inside?”

Michael stared at the vultures.

“If you’re here to challenge me, I think I like the witnesses.”

“No challenge. Just talk.” He held up his hand like a damned Boy Scout. “You have my word.”

Sighing, Michael glared at the paparazzo one more time, then nodded and stood aside to let Steve in. The guy _was_ Captain America; his word had to count for something. He hoped.

“Thanks,” Steve said sincerely as he stepped across the threshold.

“Just a quick note, you kill me and -”

“Bucky will kill me,” Steve interrupted, “bond or not.”

“Well, I’m not sure about the killing, but you would definitely face some serious couch-time,” Michael drawled leading the man deeper into his home.

Steve snorted, head swiveling to take in every inch of Michael’s entry hall.

“I’m pretty sure about the killing. He’s…” Steve shrugged with his entire torso. “You’re his best friend. He’s attached, but seriously, not here to start anything. Um, can we talk somewhere?”

“In my studio. I left the paints open, need to close them up before they dry out.”

Turning away, setting his back to an Alpha in his home, Michael hoped to convey he wasn’t about to start anything either. He was going to show Steve trust, even if it made his skin crawl to have such a large and previously hostile Alpha at his back. And if Steve did start something? Well, then Michael would have all the moral high ground to choke a horse.

“You have a nice house,” Steve said politely as they entered the studio. 

“Thanks,” Michael returned, feeling a little awkward with someone trying so hard to be polite.

“You do all your work here?” Steve asked, looking more than a little curious by the pile of papers on his desk. Yet, his hands were firmly back in his pockets. Not making any effort to leave his scent behind. Or, maybe, making sure not to leave his scent behind so no one would know when they found Michael’s body.

And, it seemed, Bucky’s paranoia was catching. 

“Usually. Sometimes I’m hired for a project that is too big to fit through the door, so I’ll rent a space for that, but…” Michael trailed off, watching Steve twist his neck to see the papers on his desk. It looked painful, much like a bird watching prey. “You can look,” he offered, feeling inexplicably fond in that moment. “If you like.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, hesitant and yet eager all at the same time. 

Michael rolled his eyes, returning to putting away his paints.

“Absolutely,” he said firmly.

Michael watched as Steve paged through the half finished sketches. There were dozens of them, the work table piled high with them, half-thought-out ideas and drawings. It wasn’t his best work, that was kept in several portfolios, but Michael wasn’t ashamed of these. He was good at what he did, but watching Steve Rogers page through them was a strange thing. Rogers was such a big man, tall, incredibly wide at the shoulders, yet so damn slim in the hips. There was power and strength in the way his biceps flexed every time he turned a page. He was an attractive man, an attractive Alpha, and Michael was always unfairly drawn to those. 

Some part of Michael disliked Steve Rogers simply because of the whole pack thing. It struck Michael as unfair, that Steve could have so many Omegas to paw at, but Rogers still felt jealous and insecure of Bucky’s Alpha friend, of Michael, who was so thoroughly friend-zoned by Bucky it burned even Michael’s flexible pride. Bucky had chosen him though, was compatibile with him, and as suspicious as it all looked, Michael was a romantic at heart. He deeply believed that a compatible pair would never hurt each other deliberately. That they were, for all intents and purposes, made for each other. 

So instead of dwelling too much on Steve’s pack, Michael decided to dwell on the long fingers touching his sketches. There was something light and pale to the Alpha, especially compared to Bucky who was velvet darkness. Steve seemed so out of place, so hesitant with his body, where Bucky was sure and deceptively open. It would be interesting to see, Michael thought, those two attitudes close together.

“Your friends say you’re an artist,” Michael commented, trying to frame that large body onto a canvas in his mind. Lying down, definitely. “They never said what kind,” he prodded, trying to get the man to relax a little.

The other Alpha glanced up at the few portraits on the walls. Michael’s parents, his old dog lying in front of a big fireplace at their house. The portrait of Sol, his childhood pet, was one of his best works. There was such a heartbreaking love in the old mutt’s eyes, so much contentment it, anyone could see how beloved he was.

“I draw,” Steve answered finally, restrained in what must have been the Cap Face Bucky complained about. “Learning to paint, but…nothing like this.”

Michael smiled and fearlessly met Steve’s gaze when he turned to him again.

“And between saving the world, saving grumpy, badass Omegas from prison, having to publicly defend your right to be treated as a human being, and probably a ton of classified shit I have no idea about, just how much practice do you get?” Michael gestured to the workshop. “I make a living from it. I draw every day, often twelve hours a day to meet a deadline. You spend a decade only doing art, every day, and you could do this too.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably and shoved his hands back into his pockets. When he turned to Michael, Steve was so serious Michael wondered if he ever smiled. He didn’t in the press, or during Congressional hearings. Surely Bucky wouldn’t fall so hard for a guy that couldn’t laugh? Could genetic engineering take away your sense of humor?

“So, I’m here about Bucky.”

Michael could feel his eyebrows going up.

“And I thought it was because you’d fallen in love with me,” he drawled slowly. “Came to ask about a possible threesome.”

Steve huffed.

“You’re worse than Tony,” he declared.

“I’m a career _artist_ , Steve.”

With how little it actually moved, Steve’s face was rather expressive. Both eyebrows drew together as his shoulders hunched forward. Confused and not sure if he was being made fun of, which was probably just the Alpha in both of them coming out.

“I don’t know what that means. Look,” Steve shoved a hand through his hair, “something’s…off, with Bucky, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’m trying to give him space and not bother him, so that means he’s…alone. A lot. And… Would you just come to the tower again? For him? I,” he waved the same hand in the air, “I’m pretty sure you don’t because of me, so I’m hoping if I ask, you’ll come.”

Again, Michael was surprised. Not that Steve realised Michel was being polite by not showing his presence in Steve’s home, but at the fact Steve actually came here to ask Michael to start showing up.

“I was trying to be polite,” Michael said slowly. “What do you mean, something is off with Bucky? He seemed okay the last time I saw him. I haven’t even needed to buy any more alcohol recently.”

“I don’t know,” Steve said slowly, eyes going unfocused, “He…had this moment of panic - that’s not quite the right word, but he’s been distant ever since. He’s on edge, all the time, more than usual, and he won’t talk to me. I mean, about much of anything if we’re not,” Steve blushed, “having sex, so it’s _something_ , but,” Steve sighed, “it’s Bucky. When he’s ready to talk about it, we will, but he should have some kind of support if he won’t talk to me, and that’s,” Steve tossed his hand in Michael’s direction, “you.”

Michael wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Steve Rogers was so painfully honest, he couldn’t even cry foul. He felt, damn his soft squishy center, like he needed to _comfort_ Steve. It was almost as bad as his constant, inescapable desire to _feed_ Bucky.

“You know, Bucky is the kind of person who communicates with his body. As long as he lets you touch him, things between you are okay. As for the other thing, yeah I can visit…but he will instantly know something’s up.”

Steve let out a breath.

“Which is why I’m trying not to push the issue,” he said, but tense enough Michael was certain there was something he wasn’t saying this time, “and why I’m fine with him knowing ‘something’s up’.” Michael’s lips twitched because he could hear the air quotes. “You shouldn’t have stopped visiting anyway, so…there’s that.”

Michael perched his hip on the edge of the worktable and folded his arms in front of his chest.

“I like Bucky, I really do. He is so hilariously grumpy it’s amazing, and he’s so very honest in his attitude towards me. He doesn't try to pretend because social norms require it of him. He was also very clear that there would be no sex between us.” Steve tensed, the tendons in his neck delineating sharply Michael gave confirmation that yes, Michael had offered sex at one point, “but as much as I love the guy, and I do, he is dumb as shit when it comes to emotions. For all you know, he might have caught a feeling and panicked all over the place because he didn’t know what to do with it.”

“Caught a feeling?” Steve asked, one eyebrow raising, his temper still kept under iron control.

Michael nodded.

“You know, the way ordinary people catch a cold,” Michael paused, thinking. “Or head lice, it’s probably all the same to him.”

Steve chuckled, looking down at the floor and Michael started, surprised by how much the smile changed him. For all his intimidating physical presence, Steve Rogers was good looking in a bland, everyday way that any fit man would be. The smile _changed_ him. He looked suddenly young, Michael’s age even, definitely younger than Bucky. He looked like a completely different person. A nicer, more approachable, inherently open person. Out of nowhere, Steve Rogers became beautiful.

“That’s Bucky, all right,” he agreed quietly.

Michael looked at him, at the shape of him, the way he changed when thinking of Bucky. There was…stunning potential there. Steve shifted, uncomfortable, probably because Michael had just been staring at him without saying anything for a while now. 

“What?” he asked, looking at Michael sideways. 

Michael was too busy thinking, mind caught with the idea that wouldn’t let him go. Steve was so pale, so young, when he relaxed. Bucky was all shadow and bitter knowledge. There was potential there for something incredible.

“I told Bucky I wanted him to pose again,” Michael blurted out, not even thinking of the ramifications of what he was saying, “since he hid the arm from me before, but I think you should pose together. For me.”

“What?” Steve repeated, his face expressing a range of emotions, from shock to jealousy. “You want to paint me, too?”

“Bucky’s a natural model,” Michael said thinking of the instinctive showmanship, the way Bucky just took on the most subtly provoking pose he could in a span of a few seconds. Far different from the way Steve acted, body-shy, and all too aware of himself until something pulled him out of his own head. “Bucky excels at projecting with his body language. You’re much more stiff, but I bet Bucky could get you to relax.”

Steve blushed as if Michael had told him to have sex.

...Oh.

Michael blinked, thinking, trying to set the scene while he still had the image in his head. The old, fold-out couch he had in the back of his workshop. No silk sheets or expensive things as backdrop; they somehow didn’t fit the image of either man. Cotton cloth, rough textures. Warm light. Sunlight, maybe late morning, not the cold moonlight he had used for Bucky. Both of them barefoot, preferably shirtless, lying down, touching. There was so much more softness in Bucky now that he had bonded with Steve that it was bound to show in the painting. And Steve, with Bucky to focus on, would forget about trying to appear smaller than he was. It could be incredible.

“I don’t usually do acts, but I think you two would turn out well that way. Got to ask Bucky…” Michael murmured, thinking about the color of the backdrop. Brown? Maybe, but the warmer brown, with a hint of red. Maybe even some white. But not too much, it would make Steve look washed out.

“You can’t actually be serious,” Steve said, eyebrows drawing together. “You know acts are done naked, right?”

“Of course,” Michael huffed, “and of course I can.” No, scratch the white, horrible idea. Maybe blue? Teal? “Bucky hid the arm from me and he owes me now, so I’m going to emotionally blackmail the hell out of him now.”

He wasn’t worried about convincing Steve, either. If he got Bucky on board, Steve would be dragged along eventually.

“Is that common for you?” Steve demanded. “Emotionally blackmailing your friends into doing what you want?”

Michael nodded absently, still thinking of colors. The blue was a possibility, but nothing vivid, not the color of the Captain America costume looked, which was an eyesore if Michael had ever seen one. 

“Sure. Bucky breaks my mind with the kind of problems he comes up with; I demand poses as remuneration.”

“So your response is to force us both to pose naked?” Steve snapped, and the anger snapped Michael back to the moment, and oops - when put that way, it didn’t sound like a thing a good person would do.

“It’s very mercenary of him,” a voice said from the doorway, “I approve.”

Both Steve and Michael whirled to see Bucky there, leaning against the frame. His torso featured a black jacket with a host of shiny silver zippers serving no other purpose than making the person watching want to unzip each and every single one. He had on a red shirt underneath, the cloth straining across the powerful pecs, black cargo pants that stretched nicely over his thighs, and heavy boots. A pair of black, bikers gloves hid his hands from view. His hair was caught back in a messy ponytail, half of it already escaping the bands. He was clean shaven, eyes clear and cool, but crinkling at the corners. He held a red lollipop in his hand, his lips already stained from the candy, and he popped it into his mouth to suck at it while he watched them. There was something sensual in the way he was leaning on the wall, in the way he pulled the lollipop out with a loud smack, then licked his lips free of sugar.

Michael couldn’t help but compare Bucky to Steve again and was blown away with how slim Steve’s hips were in comparison to Bucky’s, who was built rougher, denser than the long lines of Steve’s body. 

“Ah, fuck,” Steve muttered, shoving his hand through his hair again. “Hey, Bucky.”

Michael just grinned, knowing Bucky wouldn’t mind his comment. They clicked well, the way Bucky instinctively decided things meshing nicely with how Michael was often impulsive. Bucky’s behavior never rubbing Michael the wrong way. They worked, it was easy and glorious friendship, and would probably lead to either epic pranks, or some truly inspired bad decisions at a future date. 

Bucky wriggled his fingers at Steve, the lollipop back in his mouth. It was a ridiculously childish gesture from such a big man. Michael snorted a laugh, unable to stop himself. He also thought about the kitchen and yesterday's leftover stroganoff. Maybe Bucky would want some.

“Hey, Steve. Fancy meeting you here.”

“I, um,” Steve shoved his hands into his pockets, “was inviting Michael back to the tower. When he wants. Tony, um,” he looked to Michael as if remembering he was there, “he said you could stay in the guest rooms, since you have to drive so far. Which is Tony for he’s given you a room in the Tower.”

Michael blinked. A room?

“What do you mean, given me a room?” he asked, looking first to Bucky, who shrugged being no help as usual, then to Steve.

Steve glanced at Bucky, then back to Michael, and he swore he saw exasperation crack the serious look Steve always wore. 

“Tony does that. If you’re in New York, you’ll have a place to stay at Avenger’s Tower. Your space, Pepper and I won’t be marking it, for whenever you want to stay. The elevator will let you most places… Like a second apartment? I guess? I mean, I’m sure Natasha would be happy if you used it every once in awhile.”

Michael’s brows arched up.

“Because you talk with Natasha about me a lot?” That was interesting. Then the fact he was offered _a second apartment_ because Steve’s partner was acting hinky? It was… It wasn’t normal. Michael looked back at Bucky, who was staring at him with his eyes slightly curled up at the corners, which suggested he was suffering great amusement at Michael’s flailing. “Jeez, you don’t have to give me an apartment, I’ll visit. Hell, I might take a short vacation. It’s not like one gets to see the inside of Avenger’s Tower every day.”

Steve tilted his head to the side, his gaze assessing, like it had been the first time they’d met. It put Michael’s hackles up.

“Tony said it’s yours, you can tell him it’s not. I’m not getting involved in that.” Steve shifted, planting his feet further apart as if he expected a fight. “I’m not getting involved between you and Natasha, either. She’s my best friend, we talk; that’s it.”

‘Me and Natasha,’ Michael mouthed to himself. As if there even was such a thing. She had just stopped by a few times for dinner. Damn it, why did he always end up with the oddest Omegas to ever walk the earth? At least he had gotten a great painting out of it.

“You’re supposed to be the spy whisperer,” Steve snapped as Michael held his silence, “Figure it out.”

“Me?!” 

“No,” Steve said sarcastically, “the other guy who understands my bondmate better than me.”

Michael winced. Okay, so maybe the guy had a reason to be angry with him, but it wasn’t as if Bucky was all that complicated. Feed him, give him something good to drink, let him roam, and Bucky was basically happy. What was there to understand?

“Hey!” Bucky protested, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth with a loud pop, pointing the sweet at Steve. The deep red stain on his lips and tongue red more pronounced. “No clawing at the innocent chef.” 

“Innocent my ass,” Steve muttered.

Bucky shifted toward his Alpha, his head tilted to the side and showing just a tiny bit of neck. It didn’t look as practiced as when Bucky had done it with him. It actually looked subconscious. The effect it had on Steve was instantaneous, his shoulders lowering, tension sliding from his back as his gaze locked on Bucky’s throat.

Breathing out slowly, Steve looked back to Michael.

“Natasha doesn’t exactly spend time with many people,” he said, speaking as if choosing his words carefully. Then he looked back to Bucky and asked, “Better?”

Bucky raised his brows and looked at Michael, obviously passing the question along. Michael laughed, amused by the byplay between them, and maybe a little jealous. It was rare what those two had found with each other.

“Better,” he confirmed. 

Putting the lollipop back in his mouth, Bucky asked around it, “So, what are acts?” 

Whipping out his phone, Michael launched google search, quickly getting a page full of black and white, artistic pictures of people posed nude, but without directly showing their genitals. Michael passed the phone out to Bucky, who took it and his eyes skimmed the pictures quickly. It was interesting that he showed the same amount of interest to male and female bodies, though it took him a moment to realise what he was looking at though.

Bucky looked up from the phone, straight at Steve and then back to the phone.

“Oh,” he said looking back at Steve, who was blushing and crossing his arms. “Oh.”

“I know, right?” Michael said, sensing Bucky’s interest.

“Seriously?” Steve whined at Bucky. “Just like that?”

Bucky swallowed, his pupils dilating when he looked back at Steve.

“Yeah.” He glanced at Michael. “You want to paint him like you painted me?”

“Both of you,” Michael corrected. “Together. Touching,” he added, keeping the explanation to one he knew Bucky would understand best. “Close, so that he can feel you.”

Steve was turning redder by the moment, but hadn’t budged from where he stood, staring at Bucky like he was the center of the universe.

“You would have to strip too,” Michael warned, much more concerned with Bucky’s comfort than with Steve’s. “Show me the arm. And the scars.”

Bucky had long before turned back to the pictures on the phone, though he was still glancing up at Steve every so often.

“I don’t care,” he said absently, licking his lips again. Whatever else he was thinking of, Bucky really wanted the painting Michael was offering. “How far would you want us to go?”

Michael smiled. 

“It’s your picture; however far you want to.”

“You actually want this?” Steve asked, gesturing between himself and Bucky while flicking his gaze at Michael. 

“I,” Bucky hesitated uncharacteristically. “Yeah.”

Steve took a deep breath, glancing up at the ceiling before he nodded.

“Okay.”

Surprised again, Michael blinked at Captain America. For all his teasing and wheedling, he hadn’t expected Steve to agree so easily. Maybe in a week or so, after Bucky had worn him down. Maybe even longer, seeing the shade of red the Alpha was turning. Not when Steve was so embarrassed himself, not to mention how he must be feeling about Bucky being naked in front of Michael. He’d already proven to be a very jealous man.

“When?” Michael asked, because while he didn’t expect capitulation, he wasn’t above using it when he had it.

Steve twitched, clenching his jaw. No answer there, then. Michael turned to Bucky, who was staring at Steve with surprised eyes. The surprise was fading fast, however, quickly darkening into lust.

“Just keep in mind it’s not porn,” Michael reminded them quietly.

“If it was,” Bucky said, moving out of the doorway finally to grab Steve’s hand, “Steve would refuse.”

Steve’s entire body shifted toward Bucky, leaning toward him. Whatever problems they were having that led Steve to his door, Michael couldn’t see them. They seemed sickeningly in love, completely attuned to each other.

“Is now all right?” Steve asked without taking his gaze from Bucky, their fingers laced together. “I’d rather not put this off.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed immediately, “You two get undressed and I’ll get the couch set up.” Turning away, he mumbled, “Where are those sheets…”

The couch was half buried under supplies, but Michael had it uncovered with little effort since he managed to at least keep his things in boxes. Folding out the couch proved a little tricky, as it was old and the joints were stiff. The mattress was old, thin, but it would be comfortable enough for an hour or so. The couch back was covered in a thin, but soft brown fabric that rarely clashed with other colors.

Instead of sheets, Michael chose to dig out the soft blankets his mother always gave him for Christmas, strangely convinced he was freezing every winter. They were in rich shades of brown and red, soft to touch and big enough to cover the mattress completely. When he was feeling sorry for himself, Michael liked to curl himself into them so he imagined the guys would like them as well. 

That was all he did for staging, needing to work fast because he was sure that if he dawdled too much Steve would bolt and Bucky would go after him. With the couch unfurled, piled his with blankets, Michael dragged his easel into position. He needed a good line of sight, and then he ensured the light was falling the way he needed it to. With Bucky, he had only needed sketches, but he thought he would need some reference pictures this time. The digital camera he owned was set with the rest of the supplies. With his sketches today, reference pictures, he could finish the painting later from them along with his memory.

Breathing easier once he was set up, Michael glanced back and saw that Steve was already divested on his jacket and his shirt, the stunning muscles of his back making Michael do a double take. He honestly had not seen such carved physique outside of internet porn. Bucky’s fingers were in the waistband of his jeans, clearly trying to talk his Alpha out of them. Surprisingly, Steve was already relaxing, a smile lighting his face from whatever Bucky was saying. His hands were on the Omega’s hips, holding him close. 

Unlikely Steve, Bucky had obeyed Michael’s instructions, stripping down to just his underwear. Michael stared at the metal arm in its whole, horrifying glory. The arm itself was a wonder, the metal plates so articulated, so perfectly mimicking human flesh, it was eerie. From fingers that touched and moved just like the real thing, to the elbow and upper arm shifting with each tiny movement, simulating the biceps and triceps flexing. Higher, there was the curve of a shoulder, the plates widening into a larger, flatter surface that connected to Bucky's body with a net of brutal scarring. Nothing that ended in a person outfitted with an artificial limb could be good, but Michael was still taken aback by the sheer amount of scarring, how it spanned Bucky's chest, his back, even under his arm where he also caught glimpses of metal. 

How long had the Omega had the arm to move it as instinctively as he did? To subconsciously accept it as a part of him? Still, under all that pain and horror, Bucky was beautiful. There was an animal virility in him. He was alive, a predator, sensual and strong. He was so confident in his body it translated to Michael as a raw beauty that very few people possessed.

Michael moved his eyes to Steve. The Alpha was taller than Bucky. Not by much, but enough he could curl his body over the Omega, the angle of his shoulders and back suggesting protectiveness and gentleness. The sharp cut of his body meant he would be a perfect sculpting model, if he ever got over being so self-consciousness. 

In a way, some bitter part of Michael had expected Steve to be blase about sex, not truly accepting the excuse that the pack was only platonic. Now, watching him rest his fingers so gently on Bucky’s hips was a revelation. The way Steve focused on his Omega, the way he instinctively lowered his eyelids when staring at Bucky, the way he let his lips go soft and open, was mesmerising. 

Where Bucky was open sexuality and raw power, Steve was a mystery. He was wider in the shoulders than Bucky, but his skin was paler, his blonde hair a stark contrast to Bucky’s darkness. There were no visible scars on him, no blemishes betraying the dangerous life he led. Once again Michael focused on how slim Steve’s hips were, especially in comparison to the heavier build of the Omega. He was all long lines, the muscles toned and delineating sharply under the pale, golden skin. He had tilted towards Bucky, pressing his face to the Omega's neck, inhaling deeply so his chest expanded rapidly. He was possessive, feeling insecure in Michael's presence, yet at the same time so focused on Bucky it was…charming.

They would look amazing on canvass, Michael was sure now. The way their skin looked against each other, their different builds, only served to show how beautiful they were together. And the gentleness in Bucky, where there was only control and anger before, took Michael’s breath away. This was going to be one of the best paintings he had ever done.

When he realized he was staring, Michael reevaluated his assumption as to why Steve was smiling. Having all those muscles, that skin, under his hands and knowing he got to go home to it? That would make Michael smile too. Though, these days he was thinking maybe he’d like to go home to something softer, with a few more curves. Which, really, was strange. He’d never wanted anything but hard lines and firm muscle before.

“Come lie down,” Michael encouraged, “and lose the jeans, Steve.”

Steve glanced his way and narrowed his eyes, but Bucky just tugged at his waistband, literally pulling him along and over to the couch. When they got there, Bucky turned and pulled Steve into a kiss. It was a wonder to watch the way the Alpha relaxed at the contact, melting against Bucky. Which had apparently been Bucky’s plan as he unsnapped the button on Steve’s jeans. 

Making a sound of surprise, or alarm, Steve caught Bucky’s hand as he flushed. Pulling it away from his fly, Michael opened his mouth to point out the jeans had to come off again, when Steve pulled them over his hips. 

Michael stared; Captain America had been going commando.

“Not porn, Buck,” Steve chided, breaking the kiss as he stepped out of his clothing. 

Bucky made a grumbling, complaining sound, and Michael huffed out a silent laugh as he reached for the camera to catch the skin tones and the way they moved when they weren’t looking at him. The way they were turned, he had a good line of sight on their whole bodies, how long they were and how surprisingly invulnerable, even naked. That was mostly due to Bucky, so comfortable in his skin he barely seemed to notice he was naked at all. Steve kept switching from horrible, stiff self-consciousness, to focusing on Bucky so hard, there was barely a thought left for himself. 

At the sound of the camera, Steve’s head snapped toward Michael, lips curling away from his teeth.

“You didn’t say anything about pictures.”

“No one will ever see them but me,” Michael promised sincerely. “And I doubt you will want to pose for me five or six times, for hours each time, for me to get the colors and movement right, so pictures it is.”

“Color? It’s black and white,” Steve grumbled, but Bucky was distracting him already, pulling him onto the folded out couch. With the blankets piled up, Steve acted like any Alpha would, pulling them around Bucky, not quite wrapping him in them since the point was to see them both nude, but nesting nonetheless.

Michael laughed.

“Whatever gave you that idea? Most of the photography featuring nudes is because it’s easier to play with the shadows then. I don't deal with photography, I _paint_. There is no limit to what I can paint.”

Steve shot him a look at Michael sighed.

“I promise, no one will see them. For the same reasons you don’t want them seen.”

Bucky growled and shoved Steve back, making him sprawl on his back with yelp and exposing his front to Michael’s eyes. Steve’s cock was soft, lying exposed on his hip; lower belly and groin covered with short, dark blond hair. The position struck Michael hard, made Steve human for the first time. His cock so helplessly on display humanised the inhumanly perfect man. Michael saw the vulnerability, the insecurity that drove Steve now, drove him to do things he didn’t truly want to do. For Bucky, because the Omega wanted it.

Bucky placed his metal hand on Steve’s chest, keeping him still and leaned over him to kiss him. His long hair was loose from the ponytail now, falling forward and hiding both their faces from view. Steve’s hand rose up, instinctively, unerringly, to land on Bucky’s naked hip, long fingers splayed on Bucky’s naked ass. There was trust in that touch, in the way Bucky let Steve touch him so easily, not once feeling fear.

“You remember my picture of Bucky?” Michael asked, knowing they couldn’t answer while they kissed, and guessing Bucky wasn’t about to let Steve up soon. “I knew it was going to be good that next morning when I got up to the study and saw the sketches. I knew I had managed to catch what Bucky is in those few lines. When I finished it, I was so proud of myself. It was one of my best works. I could never sell it, though; never show it to anyone but Bucky and his Hero.” Michael was making quick sketches, capturing the way they touched, the curve of Steve’s chest, Bucky's fingers on his skin. “I know this will be good too, and I know nobody but us will ever see it.”

Grabbing Bucky’s hips, Steve pulled him over his lap, fingers sliding up and along his ribs, for a moment giving Michael an exceptional view of Bucky's naked ass and the way Steve’s muscles flexed as he manhandled the heavy Omega as if he weighed nothing. Steve kissed him; not the chaste press of lips they'd shared so far, but a deep, wet kiss that made even Michael raise his brows at the change in attitude. Bucky wasn’t just passively taking it either, he surged into the kiss, muscles in his back shifting, the metal arm fluidly moving as he reached up to lock his hands on Steve’s shoulders.

Michael kept sketching, quiet now, not wanting to spook Steve again. Just pieces, the plates of Bucky's arm, the raised scarring on his shoulder, stretching towards his neck. The knuckles of Steve’s fingers, the long stretch of his legs. 

It wasn’t right, though. This wasn’t the pose that spoke to him of _them_ , of the connection between them. He considered telling them to cool it off a little, but decided against it. If they ended up really having sex, he would just leave. After all, it was a very intimate moment, and Bucky wasn’t helping matters. He so clearly wanted Steve, he kept forgetting it was supposed to be intimate, but not outright sexual. Still, it was something inherent to Bucky, so maybe it should be more sexual than Michael had intended at first. 

Deciding to just wait, see what they would do, he picked up the camera again, but switched off the sound in the setup, not wanting to jar the couple with the sound of the shutter.

“Not porn, Stevie,” Bucky purred as Steve’s hand slid higher still, over Bucky’s chest, while the other curled around his hip.

Steve flushed, but merely curled his hand more possessively over Bucky’s lower back.

“Can’t help myself with you, not when you’re feeling like this,” Steve sounded breathless, his voice low and warm, completely forgetting about Michael.

Bucky growled, a low, velvety sound that managed to be more inviting than anything Michael had ever heard.

“You don’t get to blame me for this.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Steve argued, “How is anyone supposed to _not_ touch you?”

Bucky glanced over at Michael, and then huffed before looking back down at Steve.

“Guess I’ll just have to make sure you can’t, then.”

When Steve whined, Micheal nearly dropped the camera. It was not the sound an Alpha was supposed to make, and it hit him as hard as any Omega’s whine. Bucky, on the other hand, was unaffected, swinging his leg over Steve. As he did, Michael hissed a tiny breath in through his clenched teeth. He could see the soft fall of Bucky’s balls between his legs, the tender, vulnerable flesh of his plumping cock and the tiny glimpse of something wet and glistening in the cleft of his cheeks. He closed his eyes as he heard them move, breathing deep and steady, trying to push the image out of his head. Bucky was slick, the way an Omega in heat was, the way bonded Omegas were for their partner when aroused.

The couch springs creaked, Steve’s whined again and Michael shivered. Then a soft sound of kissing again. When Michael opened his eyes, he immediately knew that this was it. This was the image he wanted to capture.

Bucky was on his back, propped up against the back of the couch. Steve was resting between his legs, lying twisted, half on his side against Bucky’s chest. They were kissing, slow and wet, completely oblivious to Michael. Bucky had Steve’s hand caught in his, both lying in the middle of Steve’s chest. Steve's other hand was caught under Bucky’s bent leg, pressing at Steve’s left side. Bucky's metal hand was caught in Steve’s hair, supporting his head, tilting it for a better angle. The gesture was both controlling and protective, Steve completely unaware, or just unconcerned, with the danger that metal hand represented.

The way he was lying, Steve’s torso and groin were completely exposed. As they kissed, he could see Steve’s stomach work with each breath, the muscles tensing and releasing, drawing the eye to where Steve’s nearly-hard cock was resting on his pale hip. Bucky’s hand, the one tangled with Steve’s, was holding tight, ensuring Steve couldn’t cover himself.

Bucky was showing this to Michael, wanted him to catch exactly this image of them. Bucky curled over Steve, like a protective animal, something inherently primal in his position while Steve was open and exposed, painfully vulnerable. There was clear power in Steve’s body, in the muscles under all that smooth, unblemished skin, but the pose itself suggested gentleness, vulnerability, and trust. There was no doubt Steve could free himself if he wanted to, but he cared more about kissing Bucky, than protecting his own modesty.

Michael snapped one more picture, then started sketching, working as fast as he knew how. He tried to catch the desire, the desperate arch of Steve’s neck as he stretched into the kisses. There was tension in the tendons of his fingers, standing out under the skin. There was trust in the soft bend of his leg, the uncertainty of it. The way Bucky’s bent leg was pressing tight into his side spoke of fierce protectiveness, the way the metal arm curled over the other side of Steve’s chest was possessive and loving at once. There was so much love in the way they touched, it made Michael’s heart clench. 

He worked fast, but it still took time. Neither of the men complained though. They kept kissing, deep and long enough that both their lips were a little swollen and Steve was completely hard, his chest heaving with desire. Michael couldn't see that much of Bucky, but he could smell him even from where he was, how hot he smelled, how aroused already, just from kissing Steve and showing him off.

Finally, with dozens of sketches made, more pictures taken while they weren't looking, Michael decided that it was enough. He couldn't do more in a single sitting. Couldn't take the mounting desire between the men, either. It was time to end this torture, let them calm down, or finish what they’d started.

Putting the camera down on his easel, he covered the sketches.

“I’m going to take a walk. For at least an hour,” he announced loudly, turning towards the door and leaving as fast as he could, not looking back even when he heard that whine again, even as it hit him right in the gut. It was such a mind-bending thing to hear Steve Rogers, Captain America, want something so badly he whined like a desperate Omega. It wasn’t something Michael was supposed to know, it wasn’t for him. So he left, giving them space without a witness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's fears and thoughts about pregnancy are his own opinions, not meant to reflect on anybody else actions or our opinions.

Bucky couldn’t help how affected he still was by his training, the instinct now ingrained in him to never leave any trace behind. The supplies he bought at a drugstore in Jersey, then took to a cheap rent-by-the hour motel nearby. It was the kind of place you paid cash, never asked any questions, and didn’t really want to know you’d been there. Probably a dozen murders in the last two months alone. Perfect to hide, to be anonymous, to sit on the bed, no one the wiser, and stare at the pile of brightly colored boxes he’d purchased.

There were seven, so he could be sure he had the results right. No false positives, no second guessing, he’d get multiple results and finally know. He had made sure to drink a lot of water beforehand, so he was as prepared as he could be, and after this he would finally know. No more doubts, no more what ifs, he’d _know_ if he was pregnant or not.

Picking up the first box, he ripped it open and read the directions. It was simple enough. A pink plus sign for yes, a blue minus sign for no. Taking it into the bathroom, he did as instructed and then waited. And waited. And waited some more. 

Why the fuck did they have to take so long to get a result? 

Finally, the shape started to resolve. Bucky squinted, stared, waited, and felt his stomach clench as a pink plus sign slowly appeared in the plastic window. 

He was pregnant.

Hands shaking, Bucky ripped open the next box. Piss, wait, wait, wait - He was used to waiting, used to being patient but seriously, who would want to wait so damn long to know an answer to this kind of question? - and a blue minus sign. 

He…wasn’t pregnant?

No reason to panic, he assured himself. This was why he’d bought seven boxes. False positives were possible. The stupid things weren’t that smart, after all. He might be pregnant, maybe he wasn’t. Five more tests to go.

Ripping open the next box, Bucky retreated to the bathroom again and set in to wait. He stared, holding his breath, as the pink symbol started to resolve. Brighter, brighter, and then just…stopped. Just a corner, the top and left sides, forming a strange half-square instead of the promised positive plus sign. Though he waited another twenty minutes, nothing else happened. What was he even supposed to do with that? Was it positive? Negative? Neither? 

How could a yes or no test end up with neither? It was yes, _or_ it was no! It couldn’t be both!

Grabbing the next box, Bucky repeated the process. This time, however, the results were even less clear. Both the positive sign and the negative sign were visible, both brilliant, bright colors. Yes and no. He was and he wasn’t pregnant. He was a fucking Schrodinger's cat! 

Chucking the box aside, he grabbed the next, but no matter how long he waited, nothing showed up on the strip. He tried pissing on it again, but after an hour he gave up, frustrated and angry, because he was no closer to knowing an _answer_ than he had been before he tried this.

Trying to calm himself, Bucky picked up the last box. This one had to be the one to tilt the balance. Seriously, how much bad luck could a guy have? Surely four tests should have been enough. Basic statistics said the results would have to repeat themselves eventually and he would get a result. Yes, or no. Just yes, or no.

“Yes, or no,” he said aloud to the cheap, peeling wallpaper.

Bucky ripped the packaging open and went to pee on the stick. Then it was the waiting. He was ready to growl and murder someone, but it was impossible he would get another confusing answer. It was a yes or a no question, for fucks sake! Blue would mean he wasn’t pregnant, pink would mean he was.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the stick and threw it across the room to shatter against the mirror.

Green. The stick had turned _green_. That wasn’t even an option! It couldn’t even _turn_ green, but there it was. Green. No answer. No solution. He was in limbo, stuck forever not knowing if he was, or wasn’t pregnant. If he was, or wasn’t going to have a child. Steve’s child. _Their_ child.

Bucky pressed his hands to his stomach, sliding down the wall to the floor. 

Fucking _green_.

What the hell was he supposed to do with green?

\----

Bucky hadn’t meant to do it. Only, going back to the tower in the mood he was in… He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had decided to walk his confusion away instead. The possibility of being pregnant just felt so surreal. 

Though he looked young, and though Tony liked to call Steve an old man, Bucky was the old man in their relationship. During his decades with Hydra he’d lost some years. Not to amnesia, but to sheer terror. That first decade when Hydra put a lot of effort into teaching him, retraining him, those were the darkest years of his life. So dark, he had became the weapon they wanted him to be, just to escape the horror. What came after wasn’t better, merely a different kind of horror. 

Looking back, Bucky knew he should have made sure they killed him in the beginning, should have damn well starved himself if that was all he had, but he had been so young. Young and stupid, and he had had hope. He had thought that if he just got through that one thing, he would get a chance, would be able to end the pain _somehow_. Instead, all he had done was exchange one kind of torture for another. After a while, he had even stopped remembering what it was to want anything. 

Yet through it all, a secret part of himself had been fiercely grateful that he was too damaged to get pregnant. After what had been done to him, it was better this way. It was a _mercy_. It offered him a sense of freedom; courage to grab the chance to feel something good with Steve. He had done horrible things to perfectly normal, innocent people, and the thought of having a defenseless life growing in him…just didn't compute. If he had known he could get pregnant, he would never have chanced starting an affair with Steve, much less jumped into a bond with him. Something like him shouldn’t be near a creature as fragile as a child, much less be called a parent. He was sure that he would twist it, make it other, different, as dark as him, if he even managed to keep it alive long enough to see it be born.

With those heavy thoughts on his mind, Bucky had gotten lost. Uncertain where he was, only that it was dark as hell and empty, and he had frozen at the weak cry coming from somewhere nearby. The sound was disconcertingly like a child's cry, and he had followed it to behind a 7/11 convenience store. Next to the dumpster, Bucky found a cardboard box with childish writing in green crayon that read “LOOKING FOR HOME”. 

The cry came again, not a child's, but young and so very scared. Tentatively, he opened the box to see teeth, lots and lots of teeth, in a wide open mouth screaming with fear. Granted, the teeth were just a few millimeters long, and the maw was absolutely tiny, but Bucky couldn’t help but think that the kitten had a respectable amount anyway. Its white fur was puffy, sticking up at odd angles, and it was hunched in a corner, screaming it’s little head off.

Reaching into the box, he grabbed the small creature with his flesh hand and immediately felt how chilled the little thing was. Yet, it stopped crying at the warmth he offered, starting to shiver and purr, curling up right there in his palm. It was small enough he could nearly wrap his hand around it, the purring unexpectedly loud in the still night air. In moments, it was pressing its little paws against his skin, stabbing him with tiny little daggers in what he vaguely realized was pure happiness.

Bucky had stared, not knowing what to do next. He didn’t know how to care for a kitten. He didn’t know how to care for a kitten, yet he was somehow supposed to care for a child. The thought of putting the tiny, ferocious creature back in the cold, in its box, getting rid of it somehow, was unthinkable. He couldn’t _leave_ it here, couldn’t throw it away; he had to help it somehow and he _didn’t know how_.

Pulling the kitten to his chest, Bucky fought down the panic overwhelming him, knowing it wouldn’t do either of them any good. He didn’t know what to do, fine. Someone had to. Someone…

Steve.

Without any more hesitation, Bucky had tucked the kitten into his jacket, zipped it up, and sprinted for the tower. It took a few blocks, but once he was oriented, Bucky made it home in twenty minutes. By then, though, the kitten was crying again, which was how he’d ended up standing in their living room, staring at Steve as his heart pounded, holding out the tiny, screaming, baby kitten to Steve with both hands.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, confusion and worry racing through the bond.

Bucky didn’t know what to say, how to answer. What was he supposed to say? I don’t know how to care for this tiny life form, and if you don’t our baby is going to die? Even Bucky knew it was a stupid thing to say, but it was true. Caring for life, anyone’s life, was so far outside Bucky’s realm of experience. But if Steve could do it, if Steve knew how, then all Bucky had to do was carry their child to term. Then he could rely on Steve to know what was best. 

If Steve didn’t know…

“Hey, okay,” Steve said quickly, stepping forward and scooping the little white ball of fur and teeth and claws into his hands, “Where’d you find him?” Rolling the kitten onto its back, he peeked between its legs and corrected, “Her?”

“Behind a gas station,” Bucky murmured, feeling oddly relieved just that Steve was holding the kitten, and it had, for the moment, stopped crying. “In a box. I couldn’t…”

“No, of course not,” Steve said, still speaking quickly, still more than a little worried by Bucky’s actions. “We’ll find her a home -”

Bucky’s heart sped up. Was that what they’d do? Give their child to someone else? Just hand her over because they were too useless as parents? Bucky couldn’t stand the thought, couldn’t imagine someone else raising the life growing in him. If there was a life growing in him.

“Okay! Okay,” Steve blurted, eyes huge and round, “She can stay here. We’ll take care of her.”

Letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, Bucky nodded, and uncurled from how he had hunched over. Some of Steve’s alarm faded as well as Bucky relaxed, hitting home the realization that he was the cause for all of Steve’s worry and fear right now. Yet he couldn’t stop himself, stop the thoughts that everything was riding on this. On Steve knowing what to do because Bucky… Left alone, Bucky would be the death of that creature, let alone a child.

“Let’s see here,” Steve murmured, glancing nervously at Bucky and down at the kitten again, “We’re gonna have to give you a name, huh? Find you a place to sleep and eat and -” The kitten let out its ear piercing cry and Steve laughed. “Food sounds good, then, huh? Okay, food first and I’ll have JARVIS send out for your supplies.”

Carrying the kitten into the kitchen, Steve rummaged in the fridge. From over his shoulder, Bucky watched him discard vegetables, last night’s lasagna, and settle on a hotdog, one of Bucky’s particular favorites. All the while he talked to the tiny creature, nonsense sounds that quieted its cries. It curled up into a ball between Steve’s chest and the hand that held it there. It was so small, so fragile. Moving too fast, too carelessly, and its neck would snap like a toothpick. Yet Steve held it effortlessly, without a care or worry, even as it was clear he knew how fragile it was. 

“What do you think about a name, Buck?”

Bucky looked up, meeting Steve’s gaze as he set the sausage on the counter and began cutting it up all one handed.

“Shark Beast,” Bucky declared, looking again at the little one’s teeth as it cried at Steve.

Snorting, Steve gave him a long look as the bond hummed with amusement.

“No, we are not calling her Shark Beast.” He looked thoughtful, calming more and more as Bucky did. “Sergeant Tibbs.”

“Sergeant Tibbs?” Bucky said skeptically. 

Steve just nodded firmly.

“Yeah, he’s this cat from One Hundred and One Dalmatians -”

“That Disney movie you wanted me to see last week?” Bucky asked, guiltily remembering he hadn’t come home that night.

Again, Steve nodded.

“If it hadn't been for Sergeant Tibbs, the puppies would never have been saved. He crawls into Cruella's mansion, finds the puppies, then fights off the Baduns when they realize he’s there, and returns to the Colonel to report where they are. _Then_ he finds out what Cruella wants with the puppies, and stages a rescue, single handedly sneaking them out before they’re all to be killed.” Steve’s voice rose, cooing as he addressed the kitten. “Quite a name to live up to. Your daddy was a Sergeant, too.”

The words had Bucky shifting uncomfortably, glancing away and down the hallway. When he looked back, Steve was looking at him worriedly again as he held a tiny piece of sausage up to the kitten’s mouth. The creature had both its paws on Steve’s fingers, as if it could hold him in place while it munched on the offering.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly, “I know you don’t like it when I bring up the past.”

Bucky shrugged, shoving his hand through his hair and then wrapping his arms around his chest.

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky murmured. “You don’t have to hold back all the time. I know you’re not judging me when you do.”

The bond practically writhed with the emotions that tumbled through Steve at his words. So many, too fast; Bucky couldn’t have kept up if he’d wanted to. They were powerful and when he looked up from flinching, Steve was closer, pulling Bucky by the hips, the kitten still tucked in his arm, still nibbling at the sausage.

“I’m not judging you,” Steve said, holding Bucky close, his torso tilted back so they weren’t squashing the kitten between them. A fear Bucky hadn’t had until it would have been too late to stop Steve.

“No,” Bucky agreed, feeling the disquiet mentioning the Sergeant he used to be, grow, “but you would have liked him more. The golden boy, you said.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, sounding fondly exasperated even as the bond twinged with heartache, “I love you _now_. I love you as you _are_. I knew that guy you were, but I love _you_.” Heart racing, Bucky held still as Steve leaned forward, brushing their lips together. “I don’t want the Brooklyn boxing champion and skirt chaser. I _want_ you; my ghost, my warrior, rescuer of kittens and angry ball of emotions. Please believe that. Never meant to make you think I wanted you to be anything other than who you are.”

“The way I am, I keep hurting you. Even when I don’t want to,” Bucky protested weakly. Steve’s emotions were so damned different than his own. “I know you don’t like it, that I don't care the same way about the things you care about.”

“Hey,” Steve said, “No relationship is smooth sailing all the time. We’re working on it. I’m getting better at understanding, aren’t I? Just give it time.”

Bucky huffed, frustrated and angry. Once again, he wasn’t being clear and he hated that he just couldn’t fucking learn to talk about what he felt. He could pick up a new language in a matter of days, but this was always such a goddamn struggle.

“I remember how much you didn’t understand what I was telling you,” Bucky said as Steve nuzzled against his temple, likely trying to comfort him from what he felt in the bond. “I know it comes from more than just the wrong choice of words. The way I see the world, the way I understand it, it’s not something you share, or even agree with.”

“What makes you think I want you to be like me?”

“The fact that you feel like somebody splashed you with freezing cold water whenever I do something you don’t like?” Bucky huffed. Wasn’t it obvious? Steve broadcasted like a foghorn when he was happy. He did the same when he was unhappy, not that Bucky minded unless he was unhappy _with_ Bucky.

“Uh huh,” Steve said, surprisingly unimpressed with Bucky’s answer. “How do you know?”

“What do you mean, how?” Bucky queried, baffled. “The bond tells me.”

“Buck,” Steve said, smiling gently at him, “you just admitted that you don’t process the world or emotions, like I do. How can you be sure that what you think I feel, _is_ what I feel?”

Bucky huffed, turning his head a little to the side, staring at the wall over Steve’s shoulder. It was the bond; not like he had a hotline to any other Alpha’s heart.

Steve nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his own.

“Have you ever tried _asking_?”

“What? Bucky snorted derisively. “Like asking, ‘What do you think about me popping Tony in the mouth next time he says something without thinking?’” 

Lips quirking as Steve refused to smile at him, he said in his Captain America voice, “I cannot condone such actions, but,” he kissed Bucky on the cheek and whispered against his skin, “I’d really love to see that.”

Bucky swiveled to face Steve, a little dumbfounded, and not completely believing the Alpha. Steve often suppressed his own feelings to make other people feel better. 

“I don’t care about people other than those few close to me,” Bucky challenged, needing to know if he really had misunderstood Steve’s feelings through the bond. “All those people you get bent out of shape for? Mean nothing. Never will, because I don’t want to. How does _that_ make you feel?”

“I’d like you to understand what I was feeling,” Steve answered after a pause long enough Bucky knew he was curating his damn thoughts again. “But I never thought you would care about strangers, Bucky.”

Bucky huffed, disappointed because that answer made no fucking sense. 

“I asked what you were feeling, not thinking,” Bucky muttered, irrationally attached to the question now that he had asked it.

“Fine,” Steve said, eyes flashing as his jaw tensed belligerently, “Do you know why I submitted to Michael when I met him? Why I went all the way out to fucking New Jersey to ask him to come visit? No? Because you care about him when you don’t care about anyone. That’s how I feel about it, Bucky. I care more for the people who matter to you. I’ll support those relationships, even when I can’t stand the guy. That’s how it makes me feel. I care more. Deal with it.”

Bucky tilted his head, surprised. Not by Steve declaring the reason for his submission to Michael, Bucky had figured that he had done it for Bucky, but the fierce way Steve proclaimed this, the way he straightened, pushed his chest out, spread his legs to make himself bigger. Showing himself to be an immovable object meant that, on a subconscious level, Steve was prepared to fight for this with a lot more fire than Bucky was used to seeing when Steve argued something. It also indicated that Bucky’s lack of fucks to give didn’t affect Steve as much as he thought it did.

Exhaling slowly, Bucky tried to project openness and, well not relaxation, but a little submission. Something to ease Steve’s tension. He actually thought of showing his throat to Steve, but had a feeling as pumped up as Steve was right now about winning this argument, he might just take a bite of it instead of calming down. It worked, at least Bucky thought it did when Steve pulled him closer and burrowed his nose against Bucky’s jaw.

“You really think I care about every single person I’ve met?” Steve said into his neck, the Alpha’s breath fanning over his skin and making him shiver. ”I care about staying true to myself, about doing what I believe in, what I will be able to live with later. Your version is harder, but it doesn’t mean it’s so alien to me.”

“That’s…” Bucky licked his lips, finding them chapped. “That’s not what I was expecting.”

Pulling back, Steve looked Bucky in the eye again and brushed their noses together.

“You can ask me how something makes me feel, any time you want. Just to clarify what you’re getting through the bond, or if there’s a lot going on. I won’t mind. I’d like it.”

“It seems like a cop out. Shouldn’t I just know?” Bucky murmured, uncomfortable again. Wasn’t that the purpose of the bond?

“Are you asking if I should know you, understand you completely, because we’re bonded now? That I’ve failed you because I don’t?”

Displeased, because no, that’s not what he was asking, Bucky half-growled, half-huffed at Steve.

“No?” Steve asked as if the noise had actually been an exclamation. “Because that’s what it sounds like you’re asking, pretty. We’re equals in this, remember? That includes holding yourself to the same standards you hold me.”

Bucky swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and curled into Steve’s embrace. It was…hard, keeping them to the same standards. Steve didn’t know all of what he had done for Hydra, nobody knew, the records lost to time and his own machinations. If Steve found out, he wouldn’t be so sweet to him, wouldn’t let him anywhere near a defenseless creature like a kitten. But he didn't, and Bucky had a chance at something achingly good with this Alpha. 

Laying his head on Steve’s shoulder, he looked down at the tiny creature held in his arm, and murmured, “Sergeant Tibbs, huh?”

“Sergeant Tibbs,” Steve agreed, holding them both close. 

As if on cue, Sergeant Tibbs began to purr, loud and rumbling, filling the entire kitchen. Bucky huffed with amusement, closed his eyes, and just let Steve hold him. Comfort him. The bond flooded with warmth, fluffy and light - Steve’s love for him - and he finally let himself believe things might turn out all right if he was actually pregnant. He had found himself a strong Alpha, a good man, who could care for their child even when he couldn’t. All he had to do now was keep it alive.

\----

Bucky woke to a cold bed and the sound of their apartment door shutting. Grumbling to himself, because why the hell did Steve have to get up so early, he rolled over and looked at the clock. A little after ten, a perfectly _reasonable_ time to wake up. Not at ass-crack six in the morning like some super soldier he was stupidly fond of. If Bucky was forced to get up at that inhuman hour, he would probably lose any humanity he had managed to regain in recent months, and go on a killing spree or something equally violent.

“Morning!” Steve called from the living room, apparently having felt him wake up. It was always like that, a greeting, a text; Bucky thought it odd Steve paid so much attention to the bond until he realized he probably wasn’t quite so irritated when asleep.

“Mmhmph,” Bucky said to his pillow, wriggling his foot as an adequate response to the cheerful call.

Sighing, hearing Steve put on coffee, Bucky forced himself to roll out of bed. He rolled his head from side to side until he heard the vertebrae pop and scratched his stomach, yawning loud and long. Coffee didn’t do anything for him, but having the morning ritual was nice. Having Steve make him coffee on the mornings Bucky hadn’t left yet was nicer. Not that he was going to admit to that.

Yanking on a pair of sweats and the hoodie Steve had bought him last week with “WARNING: Not a morning person” on the front, Bucky wandered into the living room and froze. Steve was sitting on the couch, a white bundle of fluff at his side. That was expected, that would have made sense. The orange and white striped bundle of floof playing with the white fluff was absolutely _not_.

Steve had brought in another one.

Steve wanted _more than one_?!

Bucky was feeling strangely close to panic, and considered hyperventilating. Why was there _more than one_? What happened? Did that mean something? Was a single kitten not _enough_?

“I, um,” Steve said nervously, “thought, you know, she’d get lonely and there was a whole cageful at the vet so… Now she won’t get lonely when we’re away on missions?” 

When Bucky didn’t answer, he felt Steve’s answering panic through the bond. He scooped up the orange floof and the white fluff, holding them both protected in his arms. Like he thought Bucky might try to take them away. 

“Her name’s Gabby, but I thought that’s a silly name,” Steve babbled, “I was going to ask you what we should rename her. They’ve had their shots, were fixed and were just waiting for someone to adopt them. They really like each other. Played the whole way home.”

Bucky stared as the orange kitten grew tired of sitting squished under Steve’s arm and started to wiggle to escape. The way forward was blocked, so it started backing up Steve’s chest, its ass high in the air. Bucky had to admit it looked hilarious, the way Steve was calmly picking both kittens up, putting them one by one into his arms, keeping them there no matter how hard they tried to wiggle away.

“Um, Tony bought this cat litter thing,” Steve went on, his voice growing a little unsteady as his nerves grew, “and it flushes on its own so we won’t even have to clean the litter pan, and he’ll be by to install it later. I got them proper cat food and dishes… So, two kittens won’t be a problem. Not even the smell, so…um, please stop staring and say something.”

Unfortunately for Steve, Bucky stared. Not only had Steve brought home a second kitten, he had apparently organised everything for the foreseeable future. All Bucky had had to do was bring the thing here and Steve treated it as some kind of challenge to plan their life with it. Like it was a military invasion to be conquered as fast as possible. That seemed…good? 

Maybe?

“My limit is two,” Bucky said weakly.

Steve deflated in relief, then hustled to Bucky with both fluff balls still in his arms. 

“She’s really sweet,” Steve said as Bucky realized with growing horror he expected Bucky to hold the kitten. Yet, instead of just thrusting it into Bucky’s chest, he took Bucky’s arms, wrapped them around the little thing, so he was cradling it like Steve had the night before. As if he’d already known Bucky wouldn’t know what to do and didn’t mind. Like it didn’t matter that Bucky hadn’t done this before. And it didn’t seem to, as Bucky stood frozen with the thing in his arms, staring at its tiny face, while Steve rubbed its head with a finger. In moments it was purring, and then Sergeant Tibbs was stumbling from Steve’s arms to join the orange floof, pouncing on it and licking its ear fiercely. Then biting it, because cats seemed to be little psychopaths, not that orange floof seemed to mind. Bucky could relate.

“That’s good, Buck,” Steve murmured, “That’s real good.”

Bucky shifted the metal arm and the kittens immediately pushed out their little claws to catch onto the grooves between the plates. He couldn’t feel pain from the metal plates themselves but they registered a wide variety of outside stimuli. He knew the claws were there, could feel them hooking over the edges of the plates. Between Steve’s utter faith in him and the fact that, even tiny, the creatures seemed to have good survival instincts, he decided he could probably live with them. He had no idea how to feel about Steve being so horribly trusting of him though. It was too much and so strange, but it also felt good.

Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist, pulling them close, so the kittens were resting between their chests.

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured into his ear, “I should have called and asked. I just didn’t want to wake you up and didn’t think you’d mind, since you brought home Tibbs and all.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. It’s not like he could admit he couldn’t just ignore the small thing crying in the street. He had never had a problem like that before.

“I have nothing against the little predators,” Bucky said, settling on something at least honest. 

Tilting his head, Steve’s gaze turned speculative.

“But that’s not what has you so out of sorts, is it?”

“No,” Bucky confirmed, feeling jittery and a little light-headed, like before a horribly dangerous mission.

“Then what is it, if not the kittens?” Steve asked gently and Bucky knew from the tone if he didn’t want to answer, Steve wouldn’t make him. He didn’t know when his Alpha had decided on that, but it had gotten them weeks without talking about it. Weeks Bucky had used to try and understand what he wanted, what he thought of being pregnant, and he was honestly no closer to an answer.

“I think I might be pregnant,” Bucky said quickly.

A sigh of relief left Bucky when he finally said the words out loud. Steve, on the other hand, went still, nose still pressed to Bucky’s temple. The arms around him tightened, keeping him in place, but not pulling him closer. Not smushing the kittens between them. The bond raced, powerful jolts of shock and surprise drowning out all the rest.

Then it all went flat, horribly, awfully flat, and Steve nudged his temple with his nose.

“That wasn’t funny the first time,” Steve grumbled. “I almost had a heart attack.”

Bucky shifted, careful of the kittens in his arms, and pulled away from Steve.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Panic broke through the bond as the flatness vanished. As soon as it was gone, however, it was back and Steve was approaching him, hands outstretched. His eyes and expression were pleading, but Bucky didn’t know for what. He didn’t know what Steve wanted, though he knew Steve didn’t want kids.

“Pregnant?” Steve repeated, creeping closer, not touching Bucky. Bucky didn’t know what he felt about that careful distance Steve was keeping, even though he’d been the one to pull away. “You think? You’re not sure?” 

“The tests didn’t work,” Bucky answered, leaning away from Steve because he knew what the Alpha was feeling, thinking. Might, maybe - then maybe it wasn’t real. They might not have a child to deal with soon. “Inconclusive. I took eight.”

“Eight?” Steve repeated. “No, okay, I know I’m not taking this well, but just, we never talked about it. There’s… I didn’t think you could, so I didn’t talk to you, tell you.” 

Shoving a hand through his hair, Steve opened his mouth and Bucky interrupted him. 

“I know,” Bucky said calmly, seeing how nervous Steve was. “I thought I couldn’t have them. They…” He swallowed. “Decades of… With them and I _never_... and that, that was _good_. I was happy about that. I never wanted their… I never wanted _any_ , but now...”

When Steve moved, Bucky wasn’t expecting it. The bond was still flat and he was always so careful with Bucky, but this time he swept in. Strong arms caught Bucky about the waist, held him tight, and Steve kept coming, bullied into his space and Bucky had to retreat. Had to, or the kittens would be crushed, and then his back was hitting a wall and Steve stopped, didn’t press further, but didn’t back up. Though he was only a few inches taller, he loomed over Bucky, surrounding him, the heat of his body all Bucky could feel, his face and chest all he could see. On either side of Bucky’s hips, Steve’s hands were suddenly gentle, like Bucky was a fragile thing that could break at any moment. It made Bucky growl quietly; he wasn’t helpless.

“That’s not what I was saying,” Steve said firmly, all infuriating Alpha confidence without any explanation. “Having a kid terrifies me, Buck, ‘cause -”

“I know,” Bucky interrupted.

“You do?” Steve asked this time, not talking over him for once.

“I heard you say you didn't want kids,” Bucky said calmly. 

“You heard…” Steve said slowly, horror growing in his eyes. “Is that… Is that why you didn’t say anything?”

Bucky half-growled under his breath. Again the dreaded ‘why’ question. He didn’t tell Steve before, he told him now. Why even waste time thinking about something as meaningless as a few weeks? They had other things to do.

“No, pretty, this time you gotta tell me. I need…to know why you thought I wouldn’t help you with this? I gotta know so I can do better.”

“I was going to tell you anyway,” Bucky defended, not liking the way Steve immediately blamed himself. “I wasn’t sure there was anything to tell. As I said, there was no confirmation, the tests came back inconclusive.”

“So you were worrying alone?” Steve asked, the flatness fading again and not returning this time, thank Christ. The emotions beneath were sad, still frightened, but Steve was focused now. Focused on Bucky and getting his stupid answers. Except, Steve interrupted _himself_ before Bucky could answer again. “Later, I’ll ask you later.” Carefully, Steve pressed a hand to Bucky’s stomach. “We’re gonna need to take you to a doctor. Any stipulations on that?”

The thought of a doctor, of somebody taking his blood, taking the results and sending it god-knows-where to do god-knows-what with it. Hydra had had so many ideas on what to do with possible offspring, so many experiments they had told him about, so many things a second generation of enhanced beings could be subjected to…

Steve was holding him tighter, growing alarmed.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Steve was saying, “Anything you need, Buck. You just gotta say.”

“No doctors,” Bucky said hoarsely. “Very limited tests. I oversee the destruction of all samples taken.”

The panic in Steve grew immediately.

“Pretty, Bucky, please,” he pleaded. “If there’s something wrong with the baby, we gotta know. Maybe they can do something. What about Bruce? We do everything here at the tower? Destroy everything, just like you said. Okay? Please?”

“First, there might not even be a baby, might just be my body freaking out over nothing. Second…I could probably deal with Bruce.” Bucky thought that idea over, carefully, cautiously, and Steve let him, watching him anxiously. The idea had merit, he had to agree. “Can’t let the samples get into the wrong hands. Can’t let the wrong people know about it. If there _is_ an it.”

“Bucky, nothing is going to happen to you-”

Bucky set the kittens onto the chair to his left. Moving just enough, Steve let him, but stayed close. Close enough Bucky had no trouble reaching for him, his metal hand closing on Steve’s shoulder, the flesh fingers at his lips.

“Don’t,” Bucky said harshly. “Just don’t. You live as long as I do and then come tell me you’re sure, you _know_ I’m completely safe. I might believe you then. I know you want me to be safe and that you will do anything you can to make sure I am, but you can’t know, and you can’t promise that I will be.”

Twisting his head from beneath Bucky’s lips, Steve nodded his acquiescence, and Bucky was surprised at how easy he’d given way. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said gently, “You’re right. I can’t promise that. I can promise I’ll be here, with you, and do whatever I have to to make sure you’re all right, that… _if_ there’s a baby, it’s all right. Destroy samples, find you any doctor - Bruce - together, okay? You’re not alone with this.”

Bucky let his hand curl further around Steve’s shoulder and pulled him in closer. He was tired of talking. It seemed so useless to him, just talking about things they couldn't change or affect. What would happen, would happen, but he was sure Steve wouldn’t be pried away from him with a crowbar, much less leaving him alone of his own volition, for the foreseeable future. 

Stretching up for a kiss, he relaxed as Steve obeyed his silent request, kissing him back. It was gentle, at first, Steve treating him like a delicate flower once more. Before he could get irritated, though, Steve was kissing him harder, pressing him against the wall again. Caging him in, deepening the kiss, teasing Bucky’s lips with his tongue until they parted. He didn’t stop there, licking into his mouth, tasting him, making Bucky’s blood rush through his veins, roar in his ears. Before he knew what was happening, Steve pulled back, and Bucky let out a whine.

“I’m not leaving,” Steve said stubbornly, as if he wanted to convince Bucky of the fact. As if he needed to, as if Bucky didn’t know it already.

“I know,” Bucky insisted. 

Steve’s gaze sharpened.

“You thought I’d reject you. Our baby. Never, Buck. You’re stuck with me, no matter _what_. No matter what happens, or what you do, or what _I_ do. You’re stuck with me. Ya got that?”

Bucky smiled, just a tiny curl of of his lips.

“I’d like that.”

“Well,” Steve said, calming enough the bond didn’t feel so overwhelming, “it’s happening whether you like it or not, so at least it’s not a horrible fact.”

Something crashed off to their side and they both turned to see a pair of terrified kittens cowering on the table that stood beside the door, staring down at the floor with wide eyes where the fancy lamp Pepper had brought them as a housewarming gift lay shattered. Little jagged shards of multicolored glass lay all across the floor, glittering in the light.

“Fuck,” Steve cursed, darting from Bucky to the table, heedless of the glass, and scooping both kittens into his hands. “Don’t move!” he snapped at Bucky, indicating his bare feet as if a piece of broken glass would kill him. “I’ll get it.” 

Bucky considered getting angry about being babied, but Steve would have acted the same way before the possible pregnancy. He had always tried to spare Bucky any and all pain, leaving Bucky feeling conflicted. On the one hand, it felt strangely good to be protected, to have somebody actually care if he was in pain or not. On the other, he wasn’t weak, and he didn’t need to be protected. A lot of his strength lay in his ability to power through any kind of pain, of having no fear of being hurt, or desire to be protected. Being coddled felt like he had that power taken away from him.

Scooping the kittens from the table, Steve hustled back, one in each hand, pushing them at Bucky. He didn’t wait for Bucky to decide how to handle them before he was leaving and Bucky had to scramble to keep the wiggling creatures from falling.

“Hey!” Bucky protested, his heart beating madly as he had instinctively clenched the fingers of his metal hand to stop the white kitten from falling. He could kill it if he wasn’t careful. Steve shouldn’t have thrust the creatures at him like that.

“They’re not big enough to know not to walk in the shards,” Steve called, already heading to the small utility room to get a broom and start sweeping the glass up. 

The orange floof began crying, taking Bucky’s attention away from Steve. There wasn’t anything obviously wrong with it, besides the awkward position it had ended up in when Bucky had caught it. He loosened his hold and small, clawed feet scrambled to to find a more comfortable purchase. That, apparently, was all that had bothered it, and it stopped crying.

When he looked back up, Bucky had to admit that Steve bending down to clean the mess was a very pleasant sight. So he stayed still, watching Steve, the kittens tracking the broom, their heads swiveling like spectators on a tennis match in time with each sweep. At least his Alpha had given him a nice view while needlessly protecting him.

Finishing cleaning, Steve took the shards to the trash can and then returned with a smirk on his lips

“Were you staring at my ass?” he asked as he walked across the room.

Bucky smiled smugly, bending to let the impatient kittens down. They had quickly grown bored of being relegated to his arms. On the floor, they tumbled on top of each other and began playing. At least, he thought it was playing. It looked a bit like they were training in the best ways to attack prey. Except, after catching said prey, their response was to chew on its ears.

“It’s a peach of the highest quality,” Bucky said, nodding to confirm the absolute truth of his words.

Laughing, Steve wrapped Bucky in his arms and pulled him close.

“Did you just call my ass a peach?”

“Yes. It’s a peach.” Bucky curled his hands over the object of discussion, each cheek fitting perfectly into his palms. “It fits right in.” 

Bucky gave the flawless butt a squeeze and Steve raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a peach because it fits in your hand? I’m pretty sure my ass is larger than a peach.”

“It’s the exact same color, a delicate blushing pink.” Bucky caught a good hold on those cheeks and pulled them apart through the pants Steve had on. In response, Steve leaned into him, eyes darkening with lust. “The firmness, the curvature… A delicious peach one just wants to sink their teeth into.”

“Wanna eat me, Buck?” Steve practically purred.

Before Bucky could answer, Steve pressed their lips together. He licked at Bucky’s lips, teasing them, nipping before his tongue would dart away. Not playing with Bucky’s. His hands were teasing as well, one sliding down to his ass, the other pressing against his stomach. The latter slipped under his shirt, spreading out over his navel. 

Steve kissed him harder, finally pushing his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. He growled softly, and Bucky huffed out a laugh right into the kiss.

“You won’t find anything new there yet.”

Leaning their foreheads together, Steve blushed and nodded.

“I know, just… Sorry."

When Steve went to pull his fingers from beneath Bucky’s shirt, he caught Steve’s hand and pushed it lower. He wasn’t angry. Rather, he was amused and hot from all the groping. If Steve couldn’t tell that, Bucky would show him.

“Here. I feel something growing”

This time Steve snorted out a laugh, again leaning his forehead back against Bucky and giggling incessantly.

“That,” he managed between snickers, “was _bad_ Bucky. Really bad.”

“Well, it’s true,” Bucky answered, pushing his hips into Steve’s hand as the Alpha was still cupping his cock, “and it’s your responsibility too, so hop to it.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed, finally getting his amusement under control, and kissing Bucky again. “Yes, sir,” he said against Bucky’s lips.

“Kittens?” Bucky questioned.

“They’re fine for a few hours,” Steve said and Bucky felt his knees go weak, his whole body heating up even more.

“Hours?”

Steve chuckled.

“I take my responsibilities very seriously.”


	6. Chapter 6

Steve glanced over his shoulder to where Bucky was sitting on the floor, a long string tied about his metal index finger. He was making it wriggle and dart through the air so both Sergeant Tibbs and Red Beast were leaping and twirling, trying to catch it between their tiny paws. Sometimes they would succeed, landing and trying to eat the end as Bucky playfully pulled, pretending that the string was struggling. That always ended with the other kitten glomping the first, trying to attack it, or the string - it was never quite clear which.

Of course, all this meant he was cooking breakfast alone, but Steve didn’t really mind. Not when his bonded was, for once, happy. There was, as always, that river of anger, but it was loose. Had no focus. Steve mostly credited the kittens with that, wonderful distractions that they’d proven to be, but he thought part of it was that Bucky didn’t have to hide his current, biggest fear: that he might be carrying their child.

Swallowing, Steve turned back to his mixing bowl. The thought of _their_ child still stirred so many mixed emotions in him he could practically feel Bucky glaring at his back. He couldn’t help it, though. He was excited, but nervous. Trepidation warring with joy. They were going to have a baby! Maybe. They might have a _baby_ … A child who could be as fucked physically as Steve had been, and had _them_ for parents, Avengers for aunts and uncles, and god, their enemies too. On the one hand, he’d always wanted a child. Especially during the war, before the ice, he’d daydreamed about it all being over, settling down with Peggy, a white picket fence, and the American Dream.

Then he’d crashed a plane, drowned, been frozen for seventy years and practically given up on having a bondmate, let alone a compatible Omega to call his own. Bucky had changed that, had made him want the dream again, but he’d come into Steve’s life with them both believing they couldn’t have children. Now that could all change, and Steve still didn’t know how he felt about it besides terrified and elated, two emotions so far from each other they made him dizzy to feel at once. He wanted it, he wanted Bucky and a baby so badly he could taste it. Yet, he was so afraid of what that would mean for the life they led, the good they did, and how a child could be used against them so very easily. Even if they quit, their enemies weren’t just going to magically disappear. And Steve wasn’t sure people like Bucky and him _could_ stop, just walk away. They’d spent too much of their lives fighting. It was a part of who they were.

“You’re brooding,” Bucky said calmly from behind him. “Don’t ruin my pancakes.”

Steve snorted, glancing back at his bonded with a fond smile.

“I won’t,” he promised. “Do you think I should quit, or retire, or whatever? If you are pregnant?”

The wave of confused panic that washed over the bond was like a punch to the gut.

“Retire?” Bucky all, but stumbled over the word.

Steve poured out four round circles of batter onto the griddle, hoping his calm would keep Bucky the same. It worked, sometimes. Other times not so much, but enough that Steve always tried that first. Words didn’t have near as good a track record.

“It’s just a question,” Steve assured when Bucky’s panic only lessened a fraction, “I wasn’t sure if you’d want someone here with the baby all the time. If you’d rather it was me, or a nanny, or… I dunno, one of Tony’s robots.” 

“...Nanny…” Bucky whispered, the sense of panic growing again. “That’s… That is damn far into the future, Steve!”

“Yes, it is,” Steve agreed, flipping the pancakes so the other side could brown. “I was only thinking about it. About…” Steve paused, glanced back at his bonded over his shoulder once more. “You know I want this to be as easy for you as it can be, don’t you? During, after; I just wanna take care of you.”

“I…” Bucky licked his lips, suddenly unsure and almost gentle. “Yeah. I know.”

Steve smiled, tilting his head to the side as he watched Bucky stare fixedly as Red climbed atop Tibbs in an attempt at finding higher ground from which to attack the string.

“You gonna let me?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky huffed.

“If I’m actually pregnant, and if the kid actually gets born,” Bucky licked his lips again, “I think you’ll be the one to make most of the decisions anyways.”

Steve frowned, turning back to the stove to flip the pancakes onto a plate and pour another batch of four to begin bubbling and solidifying. 

“Because you don’t want to?” he asked.

“Steve,” Bucky said with exaggerated patience meaning Bucky thought he’d said something stupid. “All I know is how to kill in many varied and exciting ways. I also know a freaking lot about torture.” He paused. “Where in that scope of experience do you see anything about taking care of children?”

Steve could have hit his head on the cabinet before him. That explained so much of what had happened over the last weeks. Bucky’s avoidance, thinking he couldn’t tell Steve what was happening; he expected Steve to think he’d be a horrible parent. To not want a child with Bucky because of how he interacted with other people.

Steve flipped the pancakes over and retrieved the bacon from the fridge, cutting it open so it would be ready as soon as the pancakes finished.

“Do you love me, Bucky?” he asked quietly.

Bucky huffed. 

“You know I don’t like that word,” he grumbled. 

Steve didn’t sigh, but it was a near thing. It had taken some doing, but he did know now why Bucky refused to say the L word. During the years Steve had slept in the ice, Bucky had heard the words, ‘I love you’ or, ‘I love your work,’ so many time. Whenever Hydra went too far with the torture, whenever they had left him too broken to be functional, they gave him a handler that spoke of love and affection, if only Bucky did one more thing for them. Over the years, Bucky had started to hate the words with a passion so complete he refused to even say them anymore. That hatred had become internalised, became part of him, so deep it was so much more than just words. He told Steve, “I want you,” instead, his way of expressing what he felt for Steve, but it was the same emotion. The save devotion that all those others had never felt when they’d manipulated his bonded.

It didn’t help that the only relationships Bucky had managed to form had both started with sex. A child couldn’t have that kind of connection, Steve knew Bucky would never do something like that, so he likely had no idea how he would relate. Likely, even how he would have a relationship that was purely, utterly platonic. That was based around love, but love as Bucky didn’t always understand, one divorced from sexuality.

“You know, that when I tell you I love you, I’m not lying?”

“I know what you mean when you say those words,” Bucky hedged, his lips still twisting in distaste at the hated phrase.

“You know I never make you say it back?” Steve asked, flipping the last pancakes onto the plate and laying out the bacon in the pan. “Because you have your own way of telling me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky didn't sound wary and Steve liked to think it marked how far they had come in their relationship that Steve could just bring up a topic Bucky didn't like and Bucky wouldn’t just push him away, or storm away. He was listening, talking, and Steve loved him for it.

“You’re gonna find your own way to show our child, if we ever have one,” Steve said confidently. “It might be love,” he shot his bonded a teasing smile before turning back to the important task of feeding the Omega in question, “or it might be something else. Something that’s gonna be just yours and that’s how I know, Buck. You might not have all the answers, but you’ll have that feeling.”

“You are a very smart man, know more than one language well enough to communicate. How long did it took you to understand me? And you were actively working on it,” Bucky snorted quietly. “Just because I feel something doesn't mean I will be able to show it. If I feel anything at all.”

Steve snorted himself, knew that was probably a mistake, but wasn’t sure leaving the stove would be the best idea. Staying, continuing to cook, gave the conversation less weight. Steve would take all the tricks he could get to let Bucky know, even if what they were talking about was important, it wasn’t immediately worth getting dramatic over. 

“You will, you already do,” Steve said simply, “and thanks for the compliment, but that’s probably my problem. A child is a blank slate, Buck. They’re going to understand your body language, your smell, faster than anything else. They don’t have the prejudices I started with. They don’t have anything to _un_ learn, like I did. They’ll notice if their dad doesn’t hug anyone else, or… whatever it is you do, but Bucky, pretty, look at your lap and you tell me you can’t handle this.”

Folding his arms, Steve turned around. The kittens had long ago grown tired of playing and had both climbed into Bucky’s lap. They were curled together, dead to the world, between his big, scary, assassin’s thighs, purring away because they felt safe.

“You and I know you haven’t a clue with them, right?” Steve said, waving his hand toward Bucky’s lap. “They don’t. They trust you because all you’ve ever shown them is lo- affection. Gentleness. I’m the lucky one that knows how hard that’s been for you, how hard you’re trying.”

“They're just animals, small predators. They play to hone their hunting skills. Instinct basically raises them anyway. What you are talking about is a much more sensitive and vulnerable being. I’m not saying I will want to hurt it, or anything, but Steve… it cost me a lot to… let you in. To let you get this close.” Bucky looked down at the sleeping kittens. “I don’t think I want to do it again. It was nerve wracking and it hurt,” Steve winced, “and Steve, I just… I have had enough of feeling pain.”

Turning to the stove, Steve quickly flipped the bacon with his fingers, wiped his hands on his pants, and abandoned his attempt at holding the distance between them. He went to Bucky’s side and knelt, holding out his hand because he’d learned Bucky didn’t always want to be comforted with touch when upset. When Bucky took it, though, Steve squeezed and wrapped his bonded in his arms tightly.

“I never said it would be easy,” Steve murmured, “but if you do, if you make that choice, I know you’ll succeed, even though it’ll hurt. Even though you’re tired. I know you will.”

Bucky looked at him then, eyes pale and shadowed.

“And if I don’t? If I don’t connect with the child?”

Steve traced his finger down Bucky’s nose.

“If you don’t try? Or if you don’t succeed?”

“Either. Both,” Bucky shook his head. “Does it even matter if the result is the same?”

Steve shrugged.

“It would matter to me, but I see your point. If you didn’t? Well, Tony didn’t turn out too horrible and he never connected with his father. Natasha didn’t know hers. Some days I wish I didn’t know mine. I can’t promise you what will happen, but I can tell you it won’t be the end of the world.”

Something in the last sentence spoke to Bucky. He almost visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropped and the line of his spine became softer. It hit Steve, like a punch to the gut, how strongly Bucky reacted to his acceptance. How much it mattered to Bucky that Steve didn’t dismiss his choices, _him_ , despite his damaged past, and his complicated reactions.

Combing his hand through Bucky’s hair, he kissed his forehead, just letting Bucky’s relief wash over and through him. Only when the bacon was in danger of burning did he pull away, hurrying to the stove to finish cooking.

“Do we have to decide who retires, nannies, or any of that shit today?” Bucky asked, almost plaintively from behind Steve.

“Definitely not,” Steve answered firmly, “I’m not going to make any decisions without you, so think about it, or don’t, and I’ll let you know when we’re out of time, okay?”

“Deal,” came a grumbly response.

Tossing the bacon onto its own plate, Steve carried both to their dining room. He came back for orange juice, set that with the rest, and returned to Bucky. Taking a kitten in each hand, he earned several grumpy cries before he set them on the kitchen floor and hauled Bucky up, into his arms.

“You know why I’m thinking about it?” Steve asked. “Because I want this, pretty. You, a baby; all fears aside, I want it.”

Bucky met his gaze, his eyes intense.

“You want the child?”

“Your child? Yeah, pretty.”

Bucky tilted his head, his face doing that thing Steve didn’t like because it signified him making a unilateral decision. It was a bit removed and a strangely placid look on his face that replaced his usual expressions. Whatever it was Bucky had decided, Steve knew there was no way he’d change his mind.

“Okay,” Bucky said finally.

“Okay what?” Steve asked cautiously.

“You want the child. I am in a position to give you the child. So, okay. I’ll give you a child.”

Swallowing, Steve shifted on his feet, not entirely certain he was understanding. Mostly, they talked in hypotheticals about this child, about Bucky being pregnant at all. That, however, sounded like a promise. Like even if Bucky wasn’t pregnant, he would keep trying until he was. Until they had a child.

Steve’s throat bobbed again and he asked weakly, “Yeah? You know… You know you don’t _have_ to, right? I’d support anything you wanted to do.”

Bucky blinked slowly at him.

“If I had found out I was pregnant anytime before meeting you? While in Hydra, or S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hold? I would have terminated it immediately. Wouldn’t hesitate for a second.”

“And now?” Steve asked, just needing to hear Bucky say it.

“It’s my body.” There was always something fierce in the way Bucky reaffirmed his possession of himself, his control over his physical form. “And I can use it however I please. You want a child, so I will give it to you.”

Curling his arm tighter about Bucky’s waist, Steve pulled him in for a kiss even as he brought his other hand back around. He pressed it to Bucky’s stomach, full of extra life or not. The terror was still there, the overwhelming feeling of impending failure, but above all that, far _more_ than that, was his love and gratitude for the man in his arms. His fear was nothing compared to Bucky’s, yet he’d made his choice, would do this for Steve. 

“If you didn’t need to eat,” Steve gasped against Bucky’s mouth, “I’d have you take me over the table.”

Bucky laughed.

“Promises,” he purred, nipping at Steve’s lip.

Steve groaned, biting back.

“You still owe me tub sex.”

“What? I owe you?” Bucky’s hands slid down, grabbing Steve’s ass with both and squeezing. “When have I ever refused sex?”

Nodding, Steve pulled back, breathing hard, and dragged Bucky into the dining room. He wasn’t about to let his potentially pregnant mate skip a meal. It went against every Alpha instinct he had.

“You didn’t come home,” Steve answered, pulling out Bucky’s chair and pushing him into it. “We were,” he felt his face grow warm, “sexting. You promised me tub sex and, well. I woke up to you sniffing my hands.”

“I had to make sure that no rogue Omegas or Betas were rubbing where they shouldn’t.”

“Jim is an Alpha,” Steve teased as he took his own chair and piled half the pancakes onto a plate.

“As if that’s any defence. Michael is an Alpha and you wouldn’t believe the kind of eyes he makes at other Alphas,” Bucky insisted, obviously torn between ogling Steve and the full plate. If there was one thing Steve could depend on it was Bucky being always hungry.

Steve was not about to be deterred from the topic, though. Adding bacon, he passed the offering to his bonded and smiled as it was taken.

“None of that changes that I want what you promised… _after_ you eat breakfast.”

Using his fork and knife, Steve cut into the thick, golden pancake, cutting it into tiny squares before dousing it with maple syrup and adding butter. Unlike Steve, Bucky didn’t take nearly as much care with his food. He didn’t even bother to reach for the utensils. He simply dumped a slice of butter on top, poured the maple syrup over his stack. Then he folded the first one in half and stuffed it into his mouth, devouring it in three bites. Smirking at Steve, he licked his the fingers clean before starting over with the next pancake. It was at once fascinating and so very gross. Steve couldn’t imagine how sticky his fingers were, though on the bright side he did get to watch Bucky lick them clean.

“How can you eat like that?” Steve asked. “The syrup, so sticky, it would drive me nuts.”

Bucky snorted, his cheeks puffing out a little before he swallowed what looked to be half a single pancake in one go and answered:

“Why should I play with my food like-”

Steve never heard what Bucky said. The building shook, a rumble running through the Tower down to the very foundations. The cutlery rattled so hard it actually fell off the table, as did Bucky’s coffee cup that was already perched precariously and crashed onto the floor. Immediately after, they heard the roar of the explosion, and it was so loud Steve’s eardrums burst. The pain was exquisite, sharp like a knife, filling his entire head before all he could hear was a loud ringing. He clutched at his ears, feeling the explosion rattle through his bones, his jaw, making even thinking impossible. 

The building was still shaking, vibrating, when Steve opened his eyes again. The first thing he saw was Bucky, leaning on the table, his metal hand clenched tightly enough on the wood to splinter it. His flesh one was pressed to his ear. He could see blood, dark and red, dripping from his ear. He was shaking his head, his eyes scrunched up in pain. Panic surged through him at the sight before common sense kicked in and he realised it was just his eardrums bursting as well. He reached to his own ear and when he pulled his hand away, his fingers were smeared with blood.

An explosion. They were under attack.

Stumbling a little as he stood, Steve regained his footing and reached for Bucky’s shoulder. The Omega shook his head again sharply, but looked at Steve and nodded, getting up as well. Steve made one last visual sweep of his bonded to make sure he was all right. He didn't try to speak, and neither did Bucky, as they knew it was pointless. Neither could hear the other until their inner ears had healed. It was why Steve hated having his eardrums burst. It hurt like a bitch, but the the ringing in his head lasted for ages, driving him insane. He couldn't imagine Bucky felt any better about it. 

Waving his hand in the air, Steve caught Bucky’s gaze. Signalling that he’d be right back, he grinned as Bucky nodded. Thanks to his training, that he had been a soldier for so long, Bucky had understood immediately. It was a luxury Steve had gotten used to leading the Avengers; having teammates so highly trained he rarely needed more than a motion of his hand to elicit understanding. They had all trained in different places, different countries and different times, but the silent language of the military wasn’t all that varied.

Leaving the room, Steve jogged to the hallway, shaking his head to try and stave off the vertigo from his mending ears. There was still only the ringing as he yanked his shield from the foot of the bed, slung it on his arm, and jogged back to the living room. When he got there, he wasn’t surprised to see his Omega already with a rifle slung over his back and strapping a holster to his thigh. 

The blood was drying on his neck and the side of his face where it had dripped from his ear. His hair, caught into a messy, uncombed half bun, was barely kept out of his face as his hands finished closing the snaps, the fingers of his flesh hand long, quick, and agile. He put a handgun and a tactical knife into their designated places and looked up as Steve jogged in. Bucky hadn’t needed to retrieve anything from the bedroom because he had little stashes of weapons about the entire apartment. Steve didn’t mind; he’d gone out of his way to find them in case he needed them as well.

Bucky’s eyes were cold and calm. There was no panic, just grim professionalism that Steve had seen so much of in the Three Sisters Complex. Steve felt a little rush of pleasure as Bucky looked to him as his commander. He knew that Bucky could challenge him, as he had over seventy years of experience as an active combatant. It was a serious advantage, but Bucky had ceded that power, that responsibility in an easy, natural way that made Steve feel a spark of pride. His was one badass Omega, and that Omega acknowledged him as an Alpha in so many ways.

Amusement flashed through the bond, and Bucky nodded toward the door. Steve nodded back, gesturing that he would take point and heading out. They needed to get in contact with JARVIS for a status update, but their room was cut off from the A.I. The corridor outside of Bucky’s room had access to JARVIS, but they couldn’t hear him. Thankfully, the elevator had a display that would let them interface with JARVIS via text. 

The moment he stepped outside and felt difference in the rough texture of the carpet in the hallway from the cool, smooth wooden flooring of Bucky’s apartments he looked down to see his bare toes splayed on deep blue carpet. Cursing internally, he knew this was going to fucking suck. Of course Bucky was wearing his combat boots because that was literally the first thing he put on in the morning. Steve was still amazed he got his pants on over them, though that was only because he’d put a stop to Bucky sleeping in his pants. 

The elevator shaft was closed, the doors locked, and the inside lit up red. The evacuation plan in case of fire or explosion were to use the stairs to reach the ground floor as that was safest. However, there were no panels in the stairs, and Steve needed to find out what was happening.

“JARVIS,” Steve called, “we can’t hear you. I need the elevator so you can give me a status update. Use the overrides and get the car here.”

All Steve heard was the ringing, but he was going to give JARVIS a few minutes before he abandoned the plan. Then there was a light tap on his shoulder and he turned to see Bucky standing in profile beside him. He raised his eyebrows in question and Bucky indicated the other end of the corridor and the stairwell door with it’s bright green EXIT signs lit up while the elevator was displaying a glaring red X where the floor numbers usually showed. 

Steve shook his head, mouthing ‘JARVIS’. The Omega grimaced, but nodded. He didn’t change his stance though, his body tilted away from Steve. It took him a second to understand that Bucky was guarding him, guarding against the only other point of egress - the stairwell. He knew Bucky felt his wave of affection, because his lips turned up at the corners, though that was the only outward sign.

It was the change in colors that alerted Steve to the elevator doors opening. The red X disappeared and the floor panel became an eye-searing blue. A moment later, the door opened on an empty car, sleek gleaming steel and white overhead lights. 

Steve stepped inside, but Bucky didn’t follow. He stepped only close enough to put his metal hand on the door, keeping it from closing and locking Steve in. He had seen Bucky tear through metal walls and reinforced concrete, so mere elevator doors weren't going to be a problem. It was good that Bucky had compromised enough to live in close proximity to JARVIS. As a result, he hadn’t tried to force Bucky to change his mind about the A.I.

Turning to the rectangular display, Steve said aloud, “JARVIS, what’s happening?”

The screen turned black, the advertisement for a local restaurant disappearing, white text scrolling across. 

_A bomb went off on the fifth level. Rescue services are on the way. Sir is in his lab, attempting to control a security breach. Agents Romanoff and Barton are on their way to help evacuate. There were roughly 150 people who are now in need of assistance. I have extinguished most of the fires, but some areas are no longer under my control due to heavy structural damage. I have put into action evacuation procedures for the whole tower._

Fifth floor? Steve looked at Bucky, at the blood drying along the side of his face. That was was almost nine hundred feet beneath them and their ears had burst as if it happened just beside them. An explosion that powerful should have blown the whole Tower out of existence. Yet, it still stood, and their ears were still shot. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been an ordinary shockwave.

“Is there any information on who did this?”

_Not at this time._

“What attack is Tony fighting off?”

The text began to scroll immediately on the elevator panel. Steve cast a quick look at Bucky and saw him leaning into the elevator, reading the display panel with him.

_I am uncertain. It is the reason that cell phone and radio communications is impossible at this time._

Frowning Steve nodded. It wasn’t as bad as he had feared. But they would need to get as many people away from the tower as possible until they know what was happening and who was responsible. The explosion must have been terrifyingly huge for them to have felt it so harshly almost ninety floors up. 

“JARVIS,” Steve spoke, wincing at how his own voice echoed strangely in his head. “Have Pepper get Bruce to the roof and evac using one of the company choppers. Get him away from the tower as fast as possible. Where’s Sam?”

_Captain Wilson is visiting his parents. Agents Romanoff and Barton are on their way to the sixth floor._

“If you get in contact with them, tell them Bucky and I are on the way.” 

_Yes, Captain. Ms. Potts is on her way to get Dr. Banner. The company chopper is already waiting for her on the roof._

Turning away, Steve touched Bucky’s shoulder and gestured to follow once again. They had nearly ninety flights of stairs to go down. 

Between the two of them, it shouldn’t have taken much time. They made the first twenty in moments, but then they were past the Avengers floors and Stark’s workshop, and people were streaming into the stairwell, running, panicked, trying to escape. The sight of the shield always calmed people, otherwise Steve imagined Bucky would have made them panic even further. Steve almost opened his mouth to shout orders, but the blood coming from the ears of nearly every civilian stopped him. People were swaying on they feet, stumbling as they ran, but they calmed past as they saw Steve.

A faint sense of irritation was coming through the bond. Bucky’s patience with civilians was all but nonexistent, and already running out. It was probably the way they had to stop and maneuver through the throngs of confused, stumbling people. Those who didn’t notice them beforehand didn’t get out of their way, and because of that it took them much longer to get to the sixth floor than Steve had anticipated.

Once they left the stairwell, they were free of the masses, the floor already having been evacuated of anyone who could walk. The air was filled with smoke even though Steve could see the ventilation shafts open and working overtime to suck it out. There was plaster and dust sticking in his throat as he breathed, making him cough, aggravating the constant buzzing in his head. Almost all of the windows had spiderweb cracks in them, the various greenery in large pots that had stood around the office tilted or was outright lying on the floor. The desks were in disarray, electronics sparking on their sides, tossed haphazardly about. Smoke was billowing from small fires about the floor, but mostly from the giant hole in the floor situated directly in the center. The floor was sloping toward it, edges ragged, pipes and wires dangling into the darkness below. At least on this floor, half the lights were still working.

Papers had scattered across the carpet and there were still people here. Some were sitting on the floor, blood dripping from their ears, holding their heads. Others had different injuries, worse than the people they had seen in the staircase. There was a young woman sitting quietly under the wall, both her legs tilted at a terrifying angle, so pale she was obviously in shock. There was a middle-aged man with a deep wound to his head, blood streaming down his face, lying stretched on the ground. Steve had no idea if he was dead or just unconscious. There were so many people, so much blood and pain, confusion as they looked with shocked, stunned eyes at them, mutely asking for help.

They found Nat and Clint in the smoke, lifting cubicle debris off of a woman in what had once been a pristine pants suit. As they pulled her free, Steve couldn’t help but notice how she had on only one shoe.

Natasha’s fingers flashed to Clint, signing, “Take her down and find me again.”

Moving to them, he caught both Natasha’ and Clint’s eyes and signed, “What’s the situation?”

Surprise surged through the bond, but Steve kept his eyes on the others since looking away meant he couldn’t ‘hear’ them any more.

Clint, hands busy as he escorted the woman toward the stairs, just nodded to him. 

“Looks worse one down,” Natasha signed. “Lots of injured, no one attacking, though. Waiting on Search and Rescue?”

Steve nodded, signing back, “We’ll do what we can until then. Stay near, basic triage, but we gotta get everyone out.”

Nodding, Natasha turned to the woman with the shattered legs and Steve turned to Bucky.

The Omega was frowning, staring belligerently after Nat and switching the look to Steve. When Steve raised his brows in question, Bucky frowned even more fiercely and looked down at Steve’s hands before raising his eyes again to Steve’s eyes. The jealous frustration in the bond made it clear that he was feeling left out. Steve understood; Bucky was the only one he couldn’t talk to at the moment. Later, he’d offer to teach Bucky, but for now they were cut off.

Bucky’s irritation grew and he winced, but did what he could. He used the gestures they had to indicate they were staying together, then pointed towards the nearest group of injured people he could see. Though he nodded, the irritation didn’t lessen. 

They worked together, bringing people to the relatively stable wall Natasha was using as a staging point. Clint would take them out of the building, sometimes just into the hall where he got others to carry them downstairs before coming back for the next. Somewhere around the fifth person, Steve realised the buzzing and crackling he was hearing wasn’t only in his head any more. His hearing was back, more-or-less. He turned to Bucky and called him, to see if the Omega had regained his hearing too.

“Bucky!”

The way Bucky flinched meant he was probably too loud, but that he could hear. With a wince, Bucky turned to him and nodded. Behind him, Natasha shot Steve a look, meaning she could hear too.

“Yeah,” he said, low enough that Steve could hardly hear him above the ringing in his ears. “It’s back. No need to shout.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, chagrined. 

Clapping Bucky on the shoulder, they headed towards a man stuck under a steel beam that must have fallen from the ceiling and pinned his torso to the ground. It luckily hadn’t crushed him as they could see him struggling. As they got closer, Steve could hear him crying weakly. Bucky, being the one closest to the end of the beam wrapped his metal arm around the jagged steel and heaved up, shifting it high enough for Steve to get his arms beneath the man’s armpits to pull him from beneath the heavy steel. 

Just as he was pulling, the building shook again. Steve winced, waiting for the pressure that would take his hearing again, but it never came. The rushing woosh of the shockwave shook them violently. Steve watched as Bucky lost his footing, the thick steel in his hands wavering, then slipping from his fingers. Heaving, Steve threw himself backwards, taking the injured man with him, and prayed.

When he opened his eyes, Bucky was leaning over him, and the ceiling was dripping dust.

“Stevie?” Bucky asked, worry floating through the bond, and Steve smiled because he could still _hear_.

“‘M okay,” Steve promised. “What…?”

Somewhere, a speaker crackled with static and JARVIS’ voice echoed through the damaged floor.

“Captain. Sir is under attack in his workshop and requires immediate assistance.”

Sliding from beneath the man he’d managed to save, Steve glanced at the ceiling, then around the room, knowing already what he had to do and hating it. He, Natasha, and Clint were better off here, helping the people who found them easier to recognize. Bucky was new, he wasn’t a familiar, calming face and he was armed to the teeth. There was no one else to send. Bruce was gone, Sam wasn’t here, and neither was Thor.

He had to send Bucky.

The panic in him must have been clear in their bond as Bucky grabbed his arm. Of course, the Omega thought the panic was for Tony as he promptly promised, “He’ll be okay.”

Steve laughed, heedless of how manic sounded, and yanked Bucky into a kiss. It was hard, desperate, and Bucky froze for a moment before Steve felt him understand the fear wasn’t for Tony. For a moment Bucky held him tighter, then gently pushed him away. Steve closed his eyes, pressed his hand to Bucky’s stomach, then yanked him in again. This time the kiss was short, then he pushed Bucky toward the stairs.

“Go,” he said thickly, “Stay safe.”

Bucky huffed, already moving away, and said, “You stay safe too. No reckless stunts.”

“I’m never-”

“Plane. Parachute!” Bucky tossed over his shoulder, interrupting Steve even as he was moving to help Tony. He had to climb seventy floors up to reach the engineer, and Steve wasn’t envying the exertion.

“That wasn’t reckless!” Steve shouted after him, heart pounding with the fear he was trying to lock away. He hadn’t ever been this afraid for Bucky before, and knew it was because of the possible baby growing inside him. Stupid, then, irrational, but there nonetheless, and he had to get control of it.

At his feet, the man groaned and Steve made himself focus. Whatever happened upstairs, he couldn’t help now. He had to trust Bucky to take care of himself. Bending down, Steve slipped his arm beneath the man’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet. The walk to Natasha felt longer than it was as he focused on the bond, on Bucky, even though he needed to focus on the floor around him.

His bonded was a predictable bundle of irritation burning all the fiercer as he had to run up all ninety flights of stairs that he’d just come down a few minutes ago. Steve imagined there were still people walking down the stairs, forcing Bucky to either shoo them aside or just maneuver around them. At least, Steve thought, a Bucky irritated to hell and back was the Bucky he knew and loved. A familiar and a welcome presence in his soul.

The door crashed open just as Steve set the injured man against the wall. As one, Natasha, Clint, and Steve all turned toward it, expecting a threat. Instead, a team of firefighters rushed in and Steve let out a grateful breath. The more hands they had, the more people they could save. Stepping forward, he went to meet whoever was in charge, and pushed all thoughts of Bucky to the back of his mind. There was work to be done.

\----

They were halfway through helping evacuate the injured from the fifth floor - which was mostly charred rubble - when Steve, carrying a woman to the first floor, realized the attacks, first on the lower floors, then on the upper, combined with shutting off communications - literally, in the case of their ears - were all a distraction. And they were _falling_ for it. 

Mind spinning, Steve tried to figure out what was so important in the tower that someone wouldn’t want them paying attention. The Iron Man suits were his first guess, but Tony had already insured no one could use them but him. That left the Stark Industry servers and the Avengers vault. The former Steve couldn’t see anyone going to these lengths to gain access, but the vault? That’s where they kept all the things Steve didn’t trust to put in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands.

Handing off the woman to an emergency responder, Steve sprinted for the stairs. Instead of going up, though, he ran down. 

“JARVIS,” he called as he took the steps in leaps and bounds, “contact Tony and the others. It’s all a trap. A distraction. They’re here for the vault.”

Steve was on the fifth subfloor before he realized JARVIS hadn’t responded. 

“JARVIS?”

Nothing, and no time to run back up, but Steve hesitated. Then he ran on, sending a silent apology in the direction he could feel Bucky in. This was reckless, he knew that, but leaving the vault unguarded? That was worse. They didn’t know what half the shit in there did. It simply couldn’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.

Sliding onto the tenth floor, Steve knew he was right. The doors were melted off the hinges, lying on the floor. The air was full of a strange acrid smoke that made him fight the urge to sneeze. The corridor beyond was flickering with red emergency lights, but appeared empty. Lifting his shield, Steve crept down it, not knowing who or what was behind all this. The soles of his feet hurt as he walked over the broken concrete and melted pieces of metal, but he didn’t pay it much attention. They would heal fast enough. He didn’t have to go far to find out what was happening. Around the next corner, a man in a green cape and hood stood before a machine. The thing was what had melted the outer doors and was making slow progress with the vault, but it wouldn’t take much longer. Part of the thick door was already melted, the device slowly making progress on the state-of-the-art secure room.

As if sensing Steve’s presence, he turned and Steve started. From head to toe, he was clad in steel armor, much like Tony’s Iron Man suits, but there was something both medieval and disturbingly organic about the metal covering him. The man’s eyes were shadowed behind the steel mask, and though his torso was covered by a thigh-length green tunic, Steve imagined the steel covered every inch of his body. 

“Ah, the do-gooder appears at last,” the armored man said sarcastically, “I expected you sooner.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, easing closer, “must have missed my calendar alert. Who are you? What do you want?”

“Who am I?” Metal Robin Hood laughed. “My dear Captain, I am Victor von Doom and I will be your undoing.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve said, because it wasn’t the first, or the last time some crazy bastard had decided to take him out. The image of Captain America was useful, but it also inspired looneys. 

The chuckle again, deep and low, and Doom detached a purple cube from his belt. Depressing a button, he tossed it Steve’s way. Ducking behind his shield, Steve waited for the explosion to go off. Sure enough, there was a pop, but then nothing at all. When he peeked over his shield, Steve saw a cloud of purple smoke rising into the air and swirling towards him. 

“Don’t try to run, Captain,” Doom said, “They will only follow you. You see, I made them just for you, special order, to ensure you won’t meddle in our plans any further. He wanted to just kill you, but I know better than to make a martyr of you. No,” he laughed again and Steve backed up, unnerved by the man’s confidence and the approaching, shifting smoke when there was no breeze to make it move, “No, your friends are going to be chasing their tails, trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again while we assemble the device.”

“The device?” Steve asked, because of the megalomaniac was going to spill his plans, Steve was going to ask all his questions.

Doom stepped closer.

“Your ignorance is astonishing,” Doom scoffed. “You store powerful items here like souvenirs from a vacation, unaware of their significance.”

The smoke abruptly began to spiral, like a tornado or cyclone, and then exploded outwards. Steve waited, but nothing happened. There was nothing in the corridor, nothing at all. Like the smoke had never existed. The machine burned away at the vault behind Doom, the nutter himself standing smugly, like he had expected the smoke to do that. Which wasn’t a good sign.

“So you’re after what, then? What’s your device do?”

“Do?” Doom laughed and it was just as creepy as every other time he had. “What doesn’t it do? It will allow me to alter time itself. Imagine, Captain. Just _imagine_ what I can do with that.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak and realised his lungs were locked. He couldn’t get a breath in. They weren't responding. Though he strained his muscles, they wouldn’t respond. He fell to his knees, spots dancing in his vision, and Doom walked closer. Dropping the shield to claw at his throat, Steve’s chest muscles spasmed and strained, but no air reached his lungs. Pressure was growing in his head, as if his blood pressure was spiking dangerously high.

“It seems you are nothing but a muscle-bound soldier after all,” Steve heard Doom’s echoing voice, “I did tell you they would get you and you didn’t even try to run.”

Steve collapsed to his hands and knees, the pressure in his head rising to painful levels and quickly bridging into mind-numbing pain. Everything burned. His skin felt like it was on fire, ready to split and crack. Vision blurring, he tried to at least crawl, to get away, but even his strength wasn’t enough to overcome whatever this was. All he knew was it was nothing like an asthma attack, or drowning. It was as if his very cells were combusting.

The last thing Steve heard, as his vision faded to nothing, was Doom asking, “What do you think your bondmate will do to get you back? I think he’ll do whatever I want.”


	7. Chapter 7

Tony had been sleeping when the first bomb went off. It hadn’t been his choice; Pepper had found him in his lab and dragged him to their penthouse. JARVIS said he’d been working for thirty-six hours straight, so he couldn’t exactly argue with her, or him, so he hadn’t tried. He’d let Pepper pull of his clothes off, then shove him into bed. Since he couldn’t remember hitting the mattress, he was pretty sure he was asleep before he was horizontal. 

Then someone tried to blow up his fucking tower. The _nerve_ of some people.

Rolling out of bed, the sheets tangled about his ankles, he’d yelled for JARVIS even before he was upright.

“JARVIS! The hell is going on?!”

“Apologies, sir,” JARVIS answered promptly, “but I am not entirely certain. It appears an explosive device has been detonated on the fifth or sixth floor. I have alerted rescue services, but I believe someone is trying to scramble my processes, as all forms of communication within and without the tower have been disabled.”

“What?” Tony shouted - there was no one around to say he squawked - and scrambled to his feet. “Are you being hacked?”

“I think so, sir.”

Spitting curses, Tony didn’t bother to grab his robe or put on shoes. He ran for the stairs, listening to JARVIS update him on the cyber attack as he sprinted down to his lab. It was ten floors, but thanks to Steve’s training, Tony had been working on his cardio lately and wasn’t even out of breath when he got to the lab, ran past DUM-E and U, and into the shielded server room. 

“Sir, I am patching in Ms. Potts,” JARVIS said as he yanked down the server console necessary to fight off whatever asshole thought they could invade his systems.

“I thought you said communications were down,” Tony snapped.

“It’s a direct hardwire, sir,” JARVIS said. “Captain Rogers has ordered her to evacuate Dr. Banner.”

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice came over the speaker.

“Bit busy, babe. Aren’t you supposed to be getting with the going?”

Pepper huffed and Tony, belatedly, winced at his own question. It wasn’t a secret between them that Pepper hated how she couldn’t protect him like a larger, stronger Alpha could. That _that_ was the reason she tolerated Steve, and had joined his pack. At least some Alpha was doing her job.

“We’ll be gone in a moment. I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Tony promised, knowing he sounded harried and trying to give her his full attention. There was just a slightly bigger, pressing problem like completely losing control of Avengers Tower. “Tip top. JARVIS is here. If something happens, he’ll yell for Steve.”

There was silence and Tony winced again. Hadn’t he _just_ reminded himself that was a sensitive subject? He seriously needed to build a brain-to-mouth filter that was activated by his thoughts. Then it could just mute everything that was really stupid before it got him in trouble, or hurt the people he loved. 

Come to think of it, something like that would probably sell really well.

“Love you, Pep,” Tony said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You’d better, Tony,” Pepper said darkly.

JARVIS clicked to indicate the feed had been terminated. Tony was going to have to convince Steve to take her shopping so he could set up some kind of surprise. Flowers, maybe a champagne bubble bath. Something that screamed, ‘I’m sorry you bonded to an insensitive asshole who makes you feel like less of an Alpha.’ He’d contemplate that later, though. For now, he had hackers to emasculate with his superior genius.

“All right, JARVIS,” Tony said, cracking his knuckles, “Let’s kick some virtual ass.”

“Right away, sir,” JARVIS answered. 

The computer terminal whirled to life, dozens of windows opening with scrolling displays of data speeding by at a fast pace. It took him moments to discover the the fifth floor’s security cameras had no signal. The temperature sensors on floors four and six indicated a fire in multiple locations. As such, he wasn’t surprised to see alerts from those same floors saying fire detectors and sprinklers had gone off. Motion sensors had been triggered on all floors as a mass evacuation was underway. 

At the moment, that was all standard S.E.P. What Tony had to worry about was the fucker taking out communications. If the team couldn’t coordinate, Steve would blow a gasket, and it would be easier to separate and isolate them all. Like how he was now isolated in his lab, his brain oh-so-helpfully supplied. 

Luckily, it wasn’t difficult to determine what the problem with communication was. All communications hubs - cell towers, routers, landline switch - was being overwhelmed by an unprecedented amount of data packets, making all new data wait. It would be easy enough to fix, just restart everything and blow away the backup entirely, so he kicked that off and focused on the next threat: the asshole trying to subvert his encryption and hack his servers directly.

Tony had barely managed to figure out how the jackasses got in when another explosion tore into his building. He felt the explosion before he even heard it, the shockwave throwing him clear across the room, as hundreds of concrete shards rained down around him, and his ears rang. As silver linings went, his wasn’t so bad. He didn’t lose consciousness, was still aware, as the pain as the impact pushed all the air from his lungs and something in his back crunched painfully. Dizzying sparks of pain shot through his body as more warning lights began to flash in the suddenly brightly lit room.

Opening his mouth, he yelled for his suit, but no sound actually left his throat. It took him a moment to realise the vague buzzing in his ears wasn’t just the after effects of the explosion. It was goddamn noise cancellation technology. The suit wouldn’t respond to his verbal commands and he hadn’t taken them time to put on his homing bracelets. 

Rolling to his knees, Tony knew he had to get to his suit, to start it manually before whoever had punched a hole in the side of his building came inside. He was halfway to his feet when he heard a series of small, sharp clangs. When he looked towards the hole that somebody just blew in his tower, he saw heavy, black ropes with metal hooks at the ends swinging wildly in the harsh winds from outside. Then two dark shapes slide down the first two ropes, rolling nimbly through the hole in his wall. They grabbed the ropes to anchor them onto the concrete. The hooks had to have had some kind of small explosives or pneumatic system attached to them as they sank almost a foot deep into the concrete. 

In the time it took Tony to scramble to his feet, the two secured the remaining lines and turned towards him, pulling M16s from their backs. Another four men rappelled down the lines in a show of stunning timing and high-level training. Together, they spread out through his workshop in effortless, well practiced formation. They were dressed in combat black from head to toe, helmets with mirrored fronts obscuring their features. There was nothing recognizable about their equipment - clearly military grade, but not Stark tech. They didn't speak, didn’t waste time on pointless aggression or posturing. 

They were the worst kind of bad guys - competent ones.

Turning, Tony sprinted for the door for his suit, but his attackers were faster than a forty-year-old man. Someone large and strong tackled him from behind, landing their full weight on his back. Steve had made him practice this more than once, so he was able to twist and throw the son-of-a-bitch off, but to no real consequence. The moment he was on his feet again, two prongs stabbed into his back and thousands of volts of electricity began to course through his body.

Screaming through clenched teeth, Tony collapsed onto the server room floor. The man he’d tossed off just rolled him onto his stomach, yanked his uncooperative arms behind his back, and tied his wrists together with a zipcord. Even as it clicked into place, more hands were on his ankles, binding them together as well. 

They must have been wearing rubber gloves, because whoever had tazed him hadn’t stopped the juice from flowing. Tony was only vaguely aware of ropes being tied around his torso, between his legs, and under his arms. If he’d been capable, he would have put up a fight, but that was why they were keeping up the electrocution, and Tony began to worry for his heart. He could hear it pounding, skittering, roaring in his ears. It was frightening enough he was grateful the bastards binding him were so quick and efficient, otherwise he knew his weak ticker would have given out. As it was, he couldn’t move, couldn’t do more than _breathe_ , when the fucker stopped shocking him, and his heart continued to pound.

Two of the soldiers - because they moved and worked with an efficiency that only Steve, Barnes, Sam, or Natasha had ever shown - hauled him to his feet and dragged him across the debris of his server room to the hole in the wall. At the edge, Tony had a moment to wonder why they would tie him up just to throw him off a hundred story building, and then they did just that. 

Except he didn’t fall. He swung out, away from the tower, with one of the soldiers holding his elbow. A moment later, he realized they were moving, being pulled away and upwards by a goddamned chopper. The other soldiers were swinging out below them on black ropes. They were all rising, but the sound of the chopper’s blades was getting closer and closer. Forcing his neck up, Tony saw they were being winched in, more soldiers standing by. So when they were within reach, he was hauled bodily into the nondescript chopper and rolled across the floor. The man immediately next to him began unstrapping the ropes from him, gloved hands sure and quick. There were two more in the chopper besides the pilot, but only the one crouching over him was actually looking at him. At least, his black helmet was tilted in Tony’s direction. 

The moment Tony felt some of his mobility back he lashed out with his knee, hoping to damage something, to cause commotion, create chaos, because chaos meant he’d have a chance. The blow didn’t even land. The soldier blocked his knee with one hand and used the other to slap Tony across the the face, splitting his lip, but ultimately humiliating him, more than doing any damage. 

Then he did something unexpected. He shoved Tony’s legs back towards the open door of the chopper, and then off, making tony slide helplessly towards the screaming emptiness outside. He screamed involuntarily at the sensation of his legs pulling his whole body out into the air above the city. Of the inevitability of dying, falling from the sky, knowing the last time he’d talked to Pepper he’d been a total twat because he couldn’t stop himself with his hands bound.

A hand closed over his shoulder and stopped his descent, jarring his arm in its socket. His heart was pounding wildly once more as he stared at the soldier. The man holding him in place, holding his life in his hand. Tony tried to remember they wouldn't kill him, no one went to this much trouble to then just off their hostage. Yet the man keeping him from a long, hopeless fall said nothing, just unholstered his handgun from his thigh, flipped the safety off, and pressed the gun to Tony’s kneecap. The way his legs were dangling off the helicopter meant the trigger could be pulled without endangering the chopper, or the people inside. 

Cold dread washed through Tony as he stared at the soldier. He hadn’t pushed Tony to scare him, but to make it easier to shoot his fucking knees out. There was no intent to kill, but a threat, and that was more terrifying than nearly dying. Cold sweat broke out over his skin now that he understood that these people weren’t going to fuck around. Nobody had paid any attention to him but this guy. Nobody had reacted to the scuffle in any obvious way, and nobody was trying to stop him now. There was no negotiating, no spoken threats. Whoever had organized this had given them permission to maim Tony as much as they needed to and they would, without even batting an eye. 

Looking away, and closing his eyes, Tony didn’t beg. He wasn’t _going_ to beg, or whimper like a scared little Omega, but he wasn’t going to encourage this fucker to shoot his knees out, either. The wind was slapping and pulling at his rapidly chilling skin, making him shiver in earnest now. Despite his desire not to look the pathetic Omega in distress, his body was curled into a ball to conserve heat. At this altitude, the wind was almost ninety mph, strong enough to pull him off the helicopter floor by itself as he didn’t have anything to hold on to. They had him, he _knew_ it, and that was the worst part. He’d been here, he’d done this, and resisting now would only make it harder to escape later.

Without warning, the man must have decided Tony had gotten the memo, because he yanked Tony back inside. The cold metal of the chopper floor seared his skin, but he remained where they threw him, curled up, helpless with the only silver lining being that he was alive and his heat wasn’t due for another two months. He had fetched up against the legs of one of the other men, Tony’s face nearly in his boots, and this close he could smell the Alpha scent even though the wind howling through the open chopper. 

Honestly, he expected some kind of reaction, _any_ reaction, but the man acted as if Tony wasn’t even there. He didn’t kick him away, didn’t tilt his head to look down at him. Nothing. As if Tony was less important than the wind howling outside; so much below a threat he was all but inconsequential. 

No one spoke as the doors were closed and the pilot took a sharp turn, tilting the helicopter at an angle. The man that had threatened to shoot his knee out took a seat across from the Alpha Tony was closest to and calmly strapped himself in, making sure his weapon was secured and holstered at his thigh. Nobody jeered, nobody called to Tony to make sure he was going to behave now. The silence and absolute indifference was more terrifying than any threat Tony had experienced before, simply because there was no possibility of dialogue. These soldiers were like polished steel; all hard, smooth surfaces that sported no chips, no cracks for Tony to explore. They were like Barnes: highly-trained, ruthless, and exceptionally controlled. Any Alpha who could ignore an Omega smelling as strongly of distress as he was right now, had control he’d only ever seen in Thor, Steve, and Pepper.

What the hell did they want with him?

“You know,” Tony tried, “whatever you’re being paid, I can offer more.”

No one spoke. Only the pilot was moving. Nobody even tilted their head towards him. It was like being in a room with machines, not men. If he hadn’t smelled the Alpha, he’d never have known they weren’t.

“Uh,” Tony wiggled, slowly sitting up when no one stopped him, “Marco? Anyone home? You know, I can’t pay a ransom if no one talks to me.”

More silence, more nothing. Not even someone telling him to shut up, and that was just inhuman. No one could resist telling Tony to shut up. Not even Steve.

“You know, this is fun and all, but there’s going to be people coming for me,” Tony shouted, trying to be louder because maybe it was the wind keeping them from hearing him. “If you don’t deal with me, they won’t give you options to negotiate.”

The chopper lurched, like a car hitting a speed bump too fast, and everybody swayed. Tony was tossed like a rag doll, the fact he wasn’t strapped in making him yelp in panic and twist helplessly for long minutes. His elbow crashed into something hard and unyielding, pain and numbness shooting down his arm and into his fingers. He slid under the seat, his ankle catching and twisting painfully, but holding him long enough he could brace his bound legs on the metal supports so he wouldn’t just fucking split his head open, or break an arm.

The chopper evened out and there was thump, loud enough to register through the constant hump-hump of the rotor blades. Then the heard glass shatter, pieces of it showering the floor and the men seated inside. Tony was doubly grateful for his position. He was shielded from the glass, and he had unobstructed view of the soldier who had threatened to shoot out his knees lurch from his seat, unholstering a weapon and opening fire. Tony flattened himself as much as he could to the floor, feeling the helicopter lurch first to the left, then to the right. 

A body, with it’s head twisted loose of its spine under purple-bruised skin of its neck, fell to the floor, the mirrored helmet staring straight at Tony. The soldiers were shouting as gunfire continued. The chopper was tilting madly; side to side and finally down, losing altitude fast enough that Tony’s stomach rose into his throat. 

Another body, blood pouring from a gaping wound in its chest, fell on top of the first and suddenly all of the noise was gone. No shouting, no gunshots, just Tony’s thundering heartbeat and his panicked breathing. He had no idea how much time passed, though it must have only been a few seconds since they didn’t crash, but the absolute silence disturbed only by the steady whump-whump of the rotors. Then something closed on his ankle and yanked, dragging him from under the seat.

Tony screamed, kicking and trying to escape, certain in his panic that the soldiers were going to off him before he could be rescued. The hand just clamped down tighter, keeping him from kicking with sheer brute strength, and Tony found himself looking up into the face of the last person on Earth he’d expected to rescue him.

“Barnes?” Tony blurted, staring up at the Omega with no little shock. “H-how did you get here?”

Bucky gave him a look, dismissive and full of contempt, blood dried in small rivulets down the sides of his face, giving him a half-demonic look.

“I climbed,” he said with a hint of long-suffering patience, like one speaking to an exceptionally slow child.

Tony’s jaw fell open.

Climbed.

He had _climbed_.

He fucking _climbed_?! What? Did he climb air? They were flying! They were somewhere over New York. _Above_ the damned city! You couldn’t just _climb_ into a _flying_ vehicle.

“What do you mean you _climbed_?” Tony demanded.

“Shut up,” Bucky snapped, pulling out a knife and slicing open Tony’s zip ties, “we’re about to crash.”

Freezing for the dozenth time in the last fifteen minutes, Tony realized that _no one was flying the plane_. The pilot lay dead on the floor, just another body among those of the rest of his kidnappers. Bucky had killed them all, every last one, and he hadn’t been gentle about it. Efficient, yes. Gentle? Not hardly.

The metal arm whirred and hauled Tony to his feet in one easy pull. Having trouble believing this wasn’t a nightmare, Tony went - hopped, really - as he was pulled to the cockpit and shoved into the chair. He stared at the readings, not knowing what he was supposed to do, when Bucky’s hand whipped across his face. His already-split lip throbbed, but Tony was shocked back to himself.

“Get a grip, Stark,” Bucky growled, “or we’re both gonna die.”

Right. Fly chopper now; panic later. 

Later, Tony wouldn’t remember much of the next few moments. The dials were telling him they were crashing, losing altitude far too quickly. His hands darted over the console, trying every trick he knew, and every trick Rhodey or Sam had ever mentioned in passing, to right the spiraling chopper. Though the chopper would never be flyable again, he considered the result a rousing success - they slammed into the roof of a building, tipped over onto the side, and slid nearly off the edge before the chopper screeched to a halt.

Bucky’s arm whirled, unclamping from the seat and his flesh arm unwound from Tony’s shoulder where he had physically held him into the seat and bruised the shit out of him in the process. Tony slipped to the floor, which was once the actual chopper’s door, and watched as Bucky climbed to the ceiling, once the _other_ door, and yanked the hatch open as if it was made of tissue paper. He proceeded to maul the door some more, bending the jagged pieces of metal away from the opening with his metal hand with the ease that fascinated Tony no end. The whole arm fascinated him, but so far Barnes wouldn’t let him as much as take a peek at it.

Barnes pulled himself out through the opening, one smooth move that spoke volumes about the level of his physical fitness. Tony heard him move outside and then he saw his shaggy head appear in the opening, flesh hand extended, metal one somewhere behind him, probably locked on some kind of handhold.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Barnes wriggled his hand impatiently, as if getting kidnapped and then fucking crashing a fuckig hellicopter had been _Tony’s_ idea. 

“You know, I’m altering my opinion of you to be Luke and not Anakin, but seriously man, you gotta work on your lines.” He jumped, grasping Bucky’s hand and letting the cyborg pull him out of the chopper as he grunted, “Like that was a _perfect_ time to say, ‘I’m here to rescue you.’ You gotta live a little.”

“How is stating the obvious living?” Bucky demanded, not even pausing for breath, the jackass. Tony, on the other hand, just couldn’t catch his breath.

“How is repeating Star Wars lines in _real life_ not living?” Tony panted. 

Bucky slid off the chopper, then held up his hands and Tony flushed, wobbling to hold his balance on one good ankle.

“Tell no one that this ever happened.”

Though he rolled his eyes, Tony saw Bucky’s lips twitch in amusement.

“This little one’s not worth the effort.”

Tony glared.

“Seriously? All the Star Wars quotes in the world and you go with the small joke?”

Bucky raised his brows.

“If it fits…” He gestured impatiently. “Get down here, Stark. I won’t drop you.”

Tony wasn’t sure he believed that, but climbing down seemed far more hazardous than jumping. Taking a deep breath, he leapt, throwing his body outwards and closing his eyes tightly. Air whipped by him, and then he collided with something hard, yet yielding, and strong arms wrapped around him. Only, they didn’t let go. They adjusted, and Tony realized they were moving despite him still being in Bucky’s arms, like a bride.

“What are you doing?” Tony sputtered. “Put me down!”

“No,” Bucky said shortly. “You’re barefoot, injured and naked. You’ll only slow me down.”

Though he wanted to argue with that, he _really_ did, Tony had to admit that Bucky was right. Bucky sprinted for the roof door, ripping it off it’s hinges while holding Tony up with just the flesh arm. Flailing for a moment when he lost the support, Tony found his arms around Bucky’s neck. The image of the Omega in distress rescued by a powerful Alpha was probably perfect. The only saving grace was that Bucky _wasn’t_ an Alpha, even if he looked the part as he took entire flights of stairs in a bound, fetching up against walls and generally making every effort to get them back to the tower. To Steve, Tony realized, who would still be in the burning, potentially-collapsing tower in his stupidly reckless attempt to save as many people as possible. Just like Tony would have done, if Bucky hadn’t needed to rescue him in the first place.

They crashed down five flights and looked to have only two more to go when Bucky botched the next landing. His body became suddenly stiff under Tony’s hands and he slammed shoulder first into the wall, jarring both of them hard enough that Tony could feel his teeth rattle. In a further show of uncharacteristic clumsiness, Barnes stumbled away from the wall, his arms clenching painfully tight around Tony. He took another few steps and fell, his eyes unusually blank and wide. Yelping, Tony tightened his arms around Bucky’s neck landing on Bucky’s chest so that the air rushed from the supersoldier’s lungs.

Weirdly, Bucky just held on tighter, so Tony didn’t even try to pull away.

“Barnes?” Tony asked, noting and ignoring the panic in his own voice. “Bucky? What’s wrong?”

“It’s,” Bucky said vaguely, “Steve. The bond…”

“The bond?” Tony prompted as Bucky trailed off. “What about it? What’s wrong with Steve?”

Bucky opened his eyes, but they were glassy, unfocused.

“He’s...afraid? In pain. There’s so… It’s so much…”

Tony swallowed. He couldn’t remember Steve being afraid. Not ever; certainly not to an extent that would disable his bonded like it was.

“Okay, it’s gonna be okay,” Tony promised, even though he didn’t know if it would be at all. What he knew was they needed to get back to the tower as fast as possible, and for that he needed Bucky. Needed to know what was happening so they could prepare, and needed him to just get to his feet again. If he had to lie to do that, he actually didn’t think the Omega would mind. Not with his Alpha in danger. “Just get up, okay? We gotta get back. We have to get to Steve. Get _up_.”

Bucky shook his head like a dog and sat up. Though his stomach swooped with guilt, Tony made the connection immediately. Seventy years as a slave made falling back on old habits easy. Following orders was a familiar act, especially when faced with the confusion of a bond broadcasting anguish. Tony would hate himself for it, but they had to get to Steve. Hopefully, Bucky would understand.

“That’s it,” Tony encouraged, “Get up. Take us back to the tower. Take us to Steve.”

Bucky said nothing and his eyes never quite regained full focus, but he got up, straightened with almost mechanical precision, and started running down the stairs twice as fast as before. Really thundering down the staircase like a tank, ready to plow through any obstacles in his path. Tony just held on tighter and they made it all the way to the first floor when Bucky swayed and stopped once more.

“What?” Tony asked, really beginning to panic now. “What is it?”

“Fading,” Bucky said thickly, “It’s…fading. Steve’s…gone…”

Panic clutched at Tony’s heart and he pounded a fist on Bucky’s shoulder.

“ _Run_ , Barnes!” he snarled. “Get us _home_. Now. Fast as you fucking can!”

Nodding once, Bucky kicked open the last door and sprinted through a lobby full of startled people. Tony didn’t even glance their way.


	8. Chapter 8

The bond was nothing but static, the pain in Bucky’s chest was steadily expanding, but he didn’t let himself become truly scared of it. He had his goal, he had his orders, and he let everything else fade into the background, slipping into the mindset he had spent decades practicing. Stark’s weight in his arms was a strange thing. The Omega smelled of pain, but didn’t make a sound as Bucky jerked and shook him while pelting down the busy streets, all but mowing down a few slow civilians. He made himself think only of his body, of the way his lungs were working, the way the wind tugged at his hair, and his back ached from holding himself while carrying his burden. 

How long he ran, Bucky didn’t know. The plume of dark smoke in the sky was his target before he reached the first block around the tower. Police and rescue teams had set up a perimeter a few blocks from Avengers Tower, likely in case the thing fell over. In his arms, Stark pointed towards someone in the center under a large awning set up to keep the sun off the multitude of important equipment beneath.

“Them, we gotta talk to them.”

Bucky passed the first cop, not even slowing down as the guy shouted something and started chasing after them, nowhere close to actually catching up to Bucky, Stark in his hold or no. Turning sharply, Bucky passed another uniformed cop reaching to stop him and aimed for one in civilian clothes. He saw the guy reach of his gun, but hesitate, probably at the sight of the naked Omega he was carrying. Bucky bared his teeth, preparing to drop Stark and take his metal arm to the cop’s face. He was already too close, he doubted the guy would know to aim for his head, and anything else he could push through. He pushed for more speed, seeing the cops eyes widen even further.

“Don’t shoot!” Stark shouted at him. “Barnes, if we’re dead, we can’t help Steve!”

Snorting, Bucky said in a growl, “Better talk fast, or I’m going to drop your ass with them and go alone.” 

Skidding to a stop in front of the cop, he felt Tony sit up a bit in his grip.

“Hey, hi, Tony Stark. Yes, that is my tower on fire behind you with my Iron Man suit in it. We’d really like to get inside, and my big friend here isn’t going to take no for an answer as Captain America seems to be injured, so…smart call, let us in. Stupid call, he punches your face and then gets in.”

Huh, Bucky thought, it was as if Tony knew him. The cop, on the other hand, didn’t look too impressed now that his buddies from behind them were catching up.

“How do I know you’re on the level?”

Tony huffed, rolling his eyes so hard Bucky worried he’d strain something.

“Oh, sure, you could run this by the DMV or whatever, but in the meantime _Captain fucking America is dying_ and you better believe I’ll tell everyone and their mother’s favorite news agency that it was your fault,” Stark leaned forward and Bucky almost dropped him, “Officer DeWitt. Make a choice.”

Bucky rolled his shoulders back, triggering the recalibration and deliberately revving the servos in his arm, making it whine before the plates rearranged themselves with a sharp series of metallic clanks. The cops would either let them pass and assist, or Bucky would take them down and continue on his own.

“Let ‘em through!” someone from the tent called, and a harried blonde woman in a pressed suit and NYPD blue jacket pressed forward. “Mr. Stark, we’ll have the rescue teams looking for Captain Rogers as well, you, um,” she paused, staring at Stark, and then yanked off her jacket and handed it to the Omega. “Right, um, this way.”

Bucky stared at her as she started a half-walk, half-jog back toward the tower. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” he growled, even as he started after her.

The woman looked back at him and gave him that flirty smile she’d used on Steve. Bucky bared his teeth at her.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Barnes.”

“You know each other?” Tony asked, not recognizing S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Sharon Carter. 

“No time for introductions,” Agent Carter said quickly. “Steve isn’t dying. He was found on sub-level ten, unconscious.” 

“Unconscious?” Bucky and Tony echoed her with a remarkably similar level of panic in their voices.

Bucky could feel his own panic mounting, could feel his heartbeat doubling in speed as the reality of what Sharon was saying sank in. Something had gotten Steve so badly it had knocked him out long enough that people had had the time to find him and report it. Being knocked out as enhanced as they were was difficult, let alone knocking them out so that they were out of commission. He clenched his teeth. Steve was alive, that was the most important thing. That he was unconscious was probably the reason the bond was only giving Bucky static.

“He was sent to the infirmary ward,” Sharon said with a nod to their question, “but once he woke up he went on a rampage. Claimed he didn’t remember anyone; me, Fury, no one. Currently he’s tearing the place up.”

Woke up? Bucky almost tripped. Steve was awake? But… but Bucky still couldn’t feel him, wasn’t getting from him anything but the damned static. No emotions, no anything.

Before he managed to completely lose his shit, Bucky pushed the panic deeper. He couldn't stand the thought of this Carter woman watching him break, so he swallowed his questions, swallowed the fear and the pain, and tried to put on a veneer of control, even if it stuck like a rock in his throat. Jogging faster, Bucky made Sharon speed up to keep up.

“Wait,” Tony said, unable to know the enormity of Sharon’s facts. “People are still inside there?”

Sharon shot him a look.

“It’s stable. The bombs were rigged very specifically to cause very little actual structural damage. We’re keeping the pretense of an emergency so no one gets in Steve’s way. It’s a really bad idea right now.”

“Smart,” Bucky said flatly.

“We think either of you can calm him,” she said, glancing at Bucky, “though we were specifically looking for Stark. Compatible Omega, and all.”

“Okay, don’t drop me,” Stark said instantly. “Got no designs on your mate, Barnes.”

Bucky wasn’t going to drop him, but he did jostle him on the pretense of making his grip more secure.

“Just lead me to him,” Bucky ordered, speeding up a little bit more. He needed to get to Steve, needed to see him, touch him, make sure he was still on the other end of the bond. It had become such a big part of his life and was now failing him completely.

“Mate?” Sharon said, shocked, as she tried to keep up.

“They’re bonded,” Tony said, hissing in pain, “except the bond’s being funny and Barnes can’t feel Steve, which is weird if he’s awake.” 

Huh, Bucky thought, apparently Stark had been keeping up.

They ran through the lobby doors, held open by more police officers, though Bucky wasn’t sure they weren’t more S.H.I.E.L.D. officers in disguise. The floor itself seemed fine, if battered by a herd of cattle and the ceiling darkened with soot. The second floor stairwell was worse, but as when he had been running up these to help Tony, there was no damage to the stairs themselves from either the first or second blasts. 

Halfway to the infirmary floor, Tony put together why Steve would have went to the basement, but he was far more concerned with Steve and the static bond.

“It was a distraction,” Tony blurted. “The lack of damage, Steve on the tenth sub-floor - he had no reason to be there except…”

“He figured it out,” Bucky panted.

“And someone put him out of commission,” Sharon agreed grimly. “Only who, why?”

“Dunno yet,” Tony said, and Bucky felt his gaze on the side of his face, “but we got other issues to deal with first.”

“Right,” Sharon said.

The infirmary floor was reminiscent of waking after the Three Sisters. Someone had ripped the place apart. Only, instead of stopping at wanton destruction to prove a point, Steve had left bodies behind this time. Doctors, nurses and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. 

“Put me down,” Tony demanded. When Bucky hesitated, he wriggled violently as he argued, “If we’re attacked, you need both hands, Skywalker. Now put me down.”

Bucky had to admit he had a point. Of the two of them, he was the only one capable of physically controlling an enraged Captain America. He set Tony on his feet and the billionaire hopped toward the nearest body. Instead of getting something practical - like, say, pants or even shoes - he pressed his fingers to the man’s throat and let out a breath of relief.

“Still alive,” Tony confirmed. 

Bucky didn’t much care, but he knew Steve would. 

A crash and a roar came from somewhere else on the floor, the screech of bent metal shrieking through the hall. Without hesitation, Bucky sprinted in the direction of the commotion, Tony hopping along behind. Sharon, however, turned back around.

“I’m going to find Natasha!” she called as she jogged back down the stairs.

Bucky snorted, but decided he wouldn’t mind the backup when he turned a corner and the finally saw Steve. He was twisting the handles of two doors together, sealing a host of people inside the storage room and patient rooms he’d chosen. There didn’t seem to be a scratch on him, though someone had stripped him out of his shirt and shoes leaving Steve barefoot in his jeans. It was a sight Bucky normally loved to see, only this time, Steve himself seemed…off. The way he moved, how natural he appeared in his body when there was always that sense of caution to him. He looked comfortable in his skin, no self awareness about his lack of clothes at all. And still the muted, shuddery feel to the bond. He wanted to go to Steve so badly, but the inexplicable differences in Steve made him hesitate.

“Steve?” Tony asked carefully

Their Alpha spun and crouched, glaring at them both. There was nothing Bucky recognized in his eyes, just the burning anger he’d felt for a long time now. He looked at Bucky, Tony, sniffed, and growled. It was a deep, menacing sound. The kind Bucky hadn’t heard since Steve had nearly taken Michael’s head off.

Bucky crouched, but he wasn’t the only one who sensed it was Steve who was threat this time.

“I need the suit,” Tony said, taking a step back.

“Don’t move,” Steve snarled, deep and low. 

_Alpha voice._

Bucky could feel it, feel the Alpha voice holding him in place, making it unthinkable to move as Steve stalked closer. Beside him, Tony whined as Steve reached him, sniffed his throat. With another low growl, he shoved Tony away, sending him flying down the hall, then sliding across the tile. 

Then he turned to Bucky. His Alpha’s nose pushed against his throat, he sniffed, and then paused. Holding in a whine of his own and feeling bile raise up in his throat, Bucky held still as commanded. Steve sniffed him again. Instead of shoving him away though, Steve wrapped a hand around his arm and growled possessively. 

This was everything Bucky hated and it was _Steve_ doing it to him.

“Mine,” Steve said and Bucky looked up at him. Confusion had joined the anger and shown clearly in Steve’s blue eyes. Yet, the hand on Bucky’s arm was confident and the word hadn’t been a question. Though he didn’t know what was happening, Steve was still certain of Bucky.

That didn’t mean Bucky was about to forgive him.

Letting out a growl any Alpha would be proud of, Bucky slammed both his fists into Steve’s chest, putting all of his considerable power behind the blow and making no attempt to curb the metal arm’s power. He had never done that, never attacked Steve with all he had. Never had needed to until now. 

Flying back, Steve crashed into the wall and slid down. He was on his feet in a moment, but it was a moment too slow. Not about to waste that opening, Bucky leapt after Steve and met him before he was fully on his feet, grabbing him by both arms and throwing him into the wall again. This time it broke, Steve crashing through the drywall and into the empty waiting room behind. 

Bucky stepped through the wreckage, hearing Tony hop up behind, but Steve didn’t try to get up this time. Sliding back across the floor, eyes wide, Steve’s back caught against the wall and he flinched as Bucky came closer. When he knelt on either side of Steve’s legs, growling low in his throat, his Alpha tilted his head back, baring his throat in submission even though he didn’t know Bucky, didn’t know why he’d been attacked. 

“Don’t you ever use that on me again,” Bucky growled, wrapping his flesh hand about Steve’s throat.

“O-okay,” Steve replied quickly. “Whatever it was, I won’t.”

Bucky frowned.

“What do you mean ‘whatever it was’? You used the Alpha voice on me, Steve, and I swear, if you do it again I will hurt you.”

“I won’t,” Steve said, just as fast as before. “Alpha voice, sure.”

Bucky frowned harder and let go of Steve’s neck, sitting down on his heels a little and assessing Steve’s expression and body language. He was trying to look submissive, tilting his head back. It was a very conscious, scripted move. He wanted Bucky to stop being angry, but the way the corners of his mouth were turned, the way the tiny wrinkles between his brows shaped themselves, meant he was confused, lost. He was apologizing, but he had no idea why. He was just doing it to please Bucky, to make him stop growling.

“Do you know what Alpha Voice is?” Bucky asked, gentling his tone.

“The thing you want me not to do again,” Steve said immediately, then he winced. “Um, makes Omegas and Betas listen to Alphas, challenges other Alphas. I, uh, guess I knew that. How did I…do it? And I won’t,” Steve said, words tripping over themselves, “ever. Promise.”

The corners of Bucky’s lips felt locked downwards, like gravity was pulling on them.

“You promised that before,” he murmured getting up from his crouch, something burning fiercely in his chest at this violation. He wouldn’t have minded it if had Steve attacked him, broken his bones, stabbed him, or shot him. But this _scared_ Bucky. It woke up the hardest parts of him, the ones that he had used to survive Hydra. It was devastating that _Steve_ had made him feel that particular fear again.

“I did?” Steve asked, scrambling up to his knees. “I don’t remember - hey!” Steve caught Bucky’s pant leg, at the knee. “Was I wrong? Are you not mine? You don’t smell like… You don’t smell like you’re one of them. You smell like mine.”

Huffing, Bucky glanced back at Stark and said, “I am yours.” Turning back to Steve, he asked, “Who’s them?”

“I think they called themselves S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Steve answered. “They said I worked for them. That they were friends, but they were lying. Wanted me to do something for them, so I went looking for something that smelled right, but it all smells wrong.” Steve’s gaze went to Tony, then returned to looking up at Bucky. ”Until you. Who are you?”

 _That_ question hurt. In the few weeks they were together, Bucky had gotten used to the fact that Steve was his, this close presence just behind his ribs. As irritating as it often was to constantly sense Steve’s emotions, the ebb and shift of them, it was soothing in how it proved to him, every day, that Steve was alive. Now that sense was gone, and Steve, who had stuck to him like a burr, unwilling to be pushed away by Bucky’s abrasiveness, was suddenly looking at him like he was a stranger, not even knowing Bucky’s name. They were supposed to be together from the moment they bonded to the moment they died. The bond as supposed to ensure it. This was never part of the deal. This was not what Steve had promised him.

“I’m Bucky,” the words hurt passing through his throat, tasting sour in his mouth. He realised his fists were clenched at his sides and he made a conscious effort to relax them.

“Bucky,” Steve said slowly, tasting his name like a new flavor, “and I _am_ Steve?”

“Yes,” Tony said, having used the door instead of making his way through the hole in the wall, “Steve Rogers, and this is your home, so if you could stop destroying it, that would be great.”

The look of pure suspicion Steve fixed on Tony wasn’t a look Bucky had ever seen there before. There had always been a connection, an understanding between the two, and it was all the more obvious by its sudden absence.

“Who is he?” Steve asked, looking up at Bucky. “Why’s he smell funny?” A beat passed and Steve added, “And naked, why’s he naked?”

“Because it’s Tony,” Bucky couldn’t resist injecting. 

Stark shot him a nasty glare.

“It’s Tony? _He’s_ Tony?” Steve repeated. “He always smells like not-mine?”

“Not...mine?” Tony repeated slowly.

At the hole in the wall, Sharon and Natasha appeared.

“He’s seems to be running off Alpha instincts,” Sharon said. “Territory, smell - hard-wired basics without the social norms we’ve established over the centuries.”

“He,” Steve growled, getting from his knees and taking a step in the direction of the new arrivals, “is right here.” 

Bucky blinked at the open threat Steve was displaying. He had never used his size to intimidate, not without it conscious thought and purpose. This Steve used his body on instinct, used the advantage of height, build, and his voice to make a threat of himself when provoked. It was effective. Both women froze, trying not to aggravate the Alpha. Nobody seemed to be prepared for a Steve who actually took offence and showed it so clearly.

“Enough,” Bucky barked at Steve, a low growl still at the edge of his voice. “They are friends.”

Steve flinched from the sharp tone of Bucky’s voice and deflated, pulling his shoulders in and relaxing his posture, turning sideways to the the newcomers to give his full attention to Bucky. As if it was Bucky who was the Alpha here.

“Friends?” Steve asked, casting small wary looks at all the people there. Tony, Natasha, Sharon. There were a lot present and everybody wanted to make sure that Steve was all right, but he clearly wasn’t. Steve was barely Steve at all, and proving it by sniffing, taking in everyone’s scent that he could. “She smells like not-mine,” he motioned towards Natasha, “she’s _not_ mine,” he added, eyes fixing hard on Sharon.

Bucky opened his mouth and then closed it. The pack. The goddamn pack. Bucky hadn’t even realised this was going to be a problem, but of course it was. Alphas reacted to scent clues much more strongly than any other designation. Of _course_ Steve noticed that these people smelled like him and like other Alphas at the same time. Of course it confused the hell out of him. How was Bucky going to explain this strange little pack that Steve built himself? One where he scent marked all the Omegas, but never slept with them.

Stepping through the hole in the wall, Natasha held herself loose and open, throat tilted to the side for Steve to see she wasn’t a threat. The body language softened the Alpha’s gaze, like Steve had tried to do for Bucky after angering him. She knew how to handle Alphas.

“We’re pack, Steve,” Natasha said gently, her voice low and soothing. “You’re the pack Alpha. Bucky is your mate.”

“Mine, but not mine,” Steve said slowly.

Natasha smiled.

“Yes. Sharon is also a friend, but she’s not pack.”

Slowly, Steve turned to Bucky, his brow furrowing, waiting for him to confirm what Natasha was saying.

“Yeah,” Bucky said carefully. “She’s telling the truth. Tony and her are in your pack. Others, too, that aren't here yet.”

“Oh.”

Nodding, Steve turned from Bucky and headed straight for Tony. Like himself, Natasha could see there was no aggression in Steve’s movements, but Tony squawked and Sharon reached for her weapon. Steve ignored them, sweeping Tony into his arms and carrying him to the bed in the room and setting him on it.

“Um,” Tony managed, shocked speechless.

“You need a doctor,” Steve said matter-of-factly. “You’re hurt.”

Natasha came closer to Tony and patted him on the shoulder.

“Alphas care for their Omegas, Tony.”

“Oh,” Tony said, “right. Barnes, don’t stab me.”

“Who is Barnes?” Steve asked immediately, and Bucky could practically see his hackles rising.

“Me,” Bucky answered, trying to keep his tone even, hiding the hurt. “James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky for short.”

Steve deflated faster than he’d puffed up.

“Oh, why are you stabbing Tony?”

“No stabbing Tony!” Tony practically shouted, but Steve didn’t even blink, watching Bucky, waiting for his answer.

“I’m kind of a possessive guy,” Bucky said mildly, pretending not to hear Tony’s howling.

“Possessive,” Steve repeated, then stepped away from Tony. It was methodical, purposeful, distancing himself from the Omega. “I understand. Pack, but yours.”

Bucky closed his eyes. It was all so wrong.

“If you are talking about sex, then yes. You aren’t having it with anybody else but me,” Bucky said, looking to Steve again and feeling Sharon stare at the side of his face.

Nodding, Steve said, “I understand.”

“So what’s wrong with him?” Tony asked.

“The doctors didn’t get much of a chance to find out,” Sharon said, not having climbed through the hole to join them.

“He,” Steve said, hissing through his teeth, “is still standing right here.”

Tony looked at Steve, unimpressed.

“Listen, muscles, if I thought _you_ knew what was wrong with you, I’d have asked.”

Steve blinked, then smiled for the first time.

“I see why I made you pack.” Steve made a face. “But you didn’t even try asking.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony crossed his arms and asked, “So, you know what’s wrong with you, Mr. Amnesia?”

“...No.”

“All right, moving the fuck on.” Tony looked back to Sharon. “Agent, go get a doctor.”

“But,” Steve cut in, “it’s specific to my life and relationships. I can remember how to read, I know how to talk, and how to use clocks and keypads. After I’m asked a question, I can sometimes connect the answer when I didn’t know it before, or wasn’t aware I had that knowledge before. Therefore, it’s not total amnesia, since I obviously remember some things, and my head hurt when trying to remember specific details, which doesn't fit amnesia brought on by a physical injury.”

Tony stared at Steve.

Bucky blinked, surprised at the bluntness with which Steve spoke. He always knew Steve was smart, saw it in the ways he manipulated his life as an icon, but he had never heard him this willing to reveal his knowledge before. That the amnesia seemed specific to Steve's life, to his relationships with people, and with Bucky himself, burned a little bit more and seemed a lot more specific than any amnesia ought to be. It made Bucky swallow nervously, the cold knot of tension in his belly growing.

“And I locked all the doctors in the sluice,” Steve added, almost sheepishly.

“Well, at least part of you’s still in there,” Tony muttered, rubbing his temples.

“And,” Sharon said, somehow chipper despite all this, “I now know where to find them. I’ll be back.”

“Why’d you lock them in there?” Natasha asked curiously.

Steve looked at her like it was a stupid question, but answered nonetheless. “They were trying to sedate me.”

“Oh, yay,” Tony said sarcastically, “now we have _two_ Barnes’ running around. My tower is going to fall apart.”

“With the big target you painted on it when you made it the Avenger’s headquarters, it was a done deal anyway.”

“But it doesn’t need to be attacked _by_ the Avengers, too.” Tony swung his finger around and pointed at Bucky, “And don’t you think I’ve forgotten what you did to my ceiling vents!”

“I’m not the only one in those vents!” Bucky defended instinctively.

“Ceiling vents?” came the baffled question from Steve and Bucky snapped his mouth shut, realising that all the little things he took as general knowledge no longer were to Steve. 

“Long story,” Bucky hedged, not willing to go into detail now. There were things to do, and who even knew if there wasn’t anything else wrong with Steve? He had to be seen by doctors. The Tower had to be swept too. Whoever had done this to Steve had been smart, had almost gotten Tony. What else could they have done while everyone else was distracted?

As if reading his mind, Natasha said, “Clint is helping sweep the tower. Pepper is on her way back to begin an inventory of the vault.” Grimly, she turned to Tony. “Fury knows now. We need to decide on a plan, how to minimize damage to Avenger’s autonomy. It’s what Steve would have wanted.”

This time Steve didn’t protest that he was right there, and that drove home that this wasn’t his Steve, not the man he could trust to understand how volatile the situation was and protect his pack from their enemies. He couldn’t even protect himself, didn’t know who his enemies and friends were, though Bucky had to admit his newfound distrust of everyone wasn’t a bad thing.

Except, it wasn’t Steve.

“I have contingencies for that,” Tony replied, flapping his hand back and forth dismissively. “Steve and I covered it already.”

Bucky felt dizzy, he had no idea Steve had plans for the event of his own disappearance..

“That’s why they tried to take you, too,” he said, his own voice distant.

Steve’s head was snapping from one to the next like watching a tennis match, looking now to Natasha as her lips tightened in a grimace.

“Which means, whoever did this knows us. Well.”

“Long surveillance, or inside information,” Bucky murmured, thinking back to his Hydra days and how some of his missions were planned out.

“Either way.” Natasha turned to Tony. “Did you two plan for _this_?”

“A direct attack on the Tower when he’s out of commission and we’ve been compromised?” Tony asked. “Of course. What do you think Steve does when he can’t sleep at night? When he’s not fucking The Chosen One over there, he’s up with me planning. It’s his hobby. It’s honestly a little terrifying the things he worries about.”

Bucky frowned, then looked up at Steve who could only meet his gaze and shrug. Any memory of those planning sessions was gone. Plans and strategies Steve had apparently not seen fit to share with him, but with Tony. Plans that Bucky hadn’t know existed, but _someone_ had.

“So what’s the plan?” Steve asked, startling Tony and Natasha.

“Well,” Tony drawled, “Sharon and Pepper will handle Fury and the vault. Fury finding out about the damn thing was one of Steve’s concerns after we all agreed to having it here.”

“Why is it here?” Bucky interrupted.

“Ah, right, before your time, Padawan. The vault was Steve’s idea, keep the more dangerous tech and artifacts we find out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands, sometimes permanently, sometimes just until we know what the shit does. To keep it safe.”

That seemed both understandable and risky as hell. They were playing both sides of the fence, working for S.H.I.E.L.D., but also against them. For a man who had worked for them for so long, it suggested a level of distrust Bucky hadn’t known Steve felt. He’d always thought Steve trusted Fury too much, had accused him of such, and had dismissed it when Steve said it wasn’t true.

“After Steve found out about Hydra growing within S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Natasha explained, “he wanted to make sure something like that couldn’t happen again, or at least if it did it wouldn’t have the same kinds of resources -”

“Or at least that we weren’t _helping_ them,” Tony interjected.

“- and,” Natasha continued, “he figured the safest hands were our own. Thus the vault.”

Bucky frowned. The way Steve had phrased his acceptance into the team had included ensuring Bucky couldn’t be outright against S.H.I.E.L.D. Bucky had never asked why, had assumed it was because the Avenger’s worked so closely with the organization. Now he had to wonder if there weren't other reasons, reasons he never would have attributed to Steve, because Bucky had thought him too naive, too young, too _nice_. But this felt like Steve had been keeping his friends close, and his enemies closer, something he knew Steve was smart enough to do but hadn’t thought he would, because Bucky had been distracted. Distracted by sex and rage and hormones, but distracted nonetheless. From the moment he’d seen them, he should have known. He knew who Natasha was, The Black Widow; he should have known someone she followed wouldn’t be so trusting, could be devious and manipulative, and he had, to an extent, but this? He’d known Steve was a shark, but this was like meeting the beast in its own environment and seeing just what _dangerous_ really meant.

And to be fooled by sex, of all things, stung deeply. His own cock had blinded him to all that Steve was, or could be.

“Are we done singing the praises of a man who’s gone?” Steve asked with a dour expression and sterner voice, his arms locked in front of him, biceps bulging as the corners of his lips pulled down. It took Bucky aback to realize Steve was angry and not shy about showing it. It was a bitter thing to watch since he had asked Steve so many times to be open about what he felt, to show when he was angry, or hurt, or didn’t want to do something. Now he was, but it wasn’t his Steve, and it spoiled all the pleasure Bucky could feel at the sight.

“We don’t know he’s gone,” Tony snapped. “He’s… He can’t be gone.”

The anger in Tony rapidly changed to panic, and Steve, an Alpha more than anything else, winced at the distress of his Omega.

“For the moment,” Steve said, his voice gentling, “he is, and the current conversation does not help with any of the problems we have now.”

“I’m afraid Steve has a point,” Natasha said slowly. “So if Sharon and Pepper will deal with the vault, I’ll go talk to JARVIS, see if we can find out who was behind this. When Clint and S.H.I.E.L.D. are done sweeping the place, we’ll reach out to our contacts. Barnes, I expect you’ll do the same?”

Bucky nodded, confirming that he would do what Natasha expected. His network was new as hell, just a few weeks of locating ex-Hydra contacts, people who had subcontracted for Hydra while it still existed, and had no other love for them than money. Making them work so soon wouldn’t make him happy, but this was Steve. He wouldn't risk the fledgling network for anybody but his mate. There was no other way to obtain reliable intel, and if no one had seen this coming? Not even a blip? They were going to need all the resources they could muster.

“Good,” Natasha looked to Steve. “See the doctors. Tony -”

“I’ll review Steve’s contingency for this and get back to everyone,” Tony interrupted.

Nodding, Natasha said, “I’ll have Bruce make sure Steve’s fridge is stocked in his room.” Looking to Bucky, she raised an eyebrow. “Unless you object?”

Bucky looked to Steve, to the irritated way he was standing. He tried to evaluate the Alpha as he saw him now, a dangerous stranger who would be with him when he was weaponless. The thought of sleeping in the same bed as this Steve, about touching him, him touching Bucky, made his skin crawl. This wasn’t his mate, trustworthy and safe. This Steve didn’t even know who he was, what had happened to him, and Bucky didn’t think he wanted him to.

“No objections,” Bucky said. “I’ll get Steve settled once we’re done with the tests and things.”

For a moment, the irritation vanished and Steve just looked surprised. Then he just pressed his lips together, looking down, and Bucky wasn’t sure what he was thinking or feeling. For once, the bond didn’t tell him. He was alone, the mark on Steve’s throat taunting him with his loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mandatory break point.
> 
> If you have been reading this non stop, please get up, go for a walk, or go to sleep. We'll still be here later.


	9. Chapter 9

“Please hold still, Captain Rogers.”

Steve gritted his teeth, trying to stay still as requested. Thing was, he had thought he was holding still, only it wasn’t still enough. It had been hours now of doctors and nurses poking and prodding, test after test, taking so much blood he was sure he was going to keel over and faint, not that he did. Worse, no one seemed to know why his memory was gone, or why he could remember what he could, or why he couldn’t remember what he couldn’t. There was even some special neurologist flying in the next day, just to look at him. 

To say Steve was tired of it was an understatement. All he wanted was to go someplace safe, someplace his, with his mate, and reacquaint himself with Bucky’s scent. His Omega hadn’t left his side, not that he seemed at all happy about that fact. No, he was angry, angrier even than Steve felt and it burned in him, made it difficult for him not to snap at the multitude of strangers, many whose scents made him want to tear them apart. At the least keep them from his mate. Steve wasn’t even sure why Bucky was mad, though he suspected it was because Steve wasn’t acting like everyone expected. Everything he did seemed to surprise him, or the others, not that Steve knew what he was supposed to do.

It was almost like no one had told them he’d lost his memories.

The machine he was in roared to life again, whirring and spinning and clicking, and Steve tensed every muscle to keep himself still. This time, the doctor told him he was doing well - fucker, damn right he was - and said they would be just a few more hours.

Hours.

Steve was going to… to… something. Steve was going to something if they didn’t let him out of this damn machine soon. If they didn’t stop poking him and asking him ‘Do you remember’. Soon, now maybe. Now sounded good.

“Give the man a break,” Bucky said before Steve could pull himself free.

Freezing, Steve felt his mate come closer, slide the bed he was on out of the machine, and pull off the leads with disturbing ease, knowing how they were attached and to what. Not that Steve would complain when Bucky was freeing him from the pressure of remaining still for such a long time for basically nothing. None of the tests had told them anything. He was apparently a paragon of health. Hell, he was apparently an enhanced human being, not that anyone was explaining just what that meant, or what ‘the serum’ was that had made him this way. 

“Thank you,” Steve muttered, sitting up and letting Bucky help him to his feet. “I’m starving. Can we eat?”

Bucky grinned, and he was so gorgeous, but one of the doctors interrupted like they kept fucking doing.

“Captain Rogers, I’m not sure you should be eating just anything right now. We still don’t know what’s wrong with you and certain enzymes, or proteins, could cause an unexpected reaction.”

The doctor wasn’t done, but Steve was. Growling, low and loud, he made the man flinch and snap his teeth shut on his tongue. It would have been very satisfying, except his mate then growled at him. Flinching himself, Steve twisted his head to the side, baring his throat to Bucky, submitting and acknowledging his dominance of the situation. Steve had noticed Bucky didn’t seem to like that either, but he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. Bucky was his mate, knew this world, these people, and Steve didn’t. Of course he would submit to him.

“You can continue tomorrow,” Bucky told the doctor, his tone brooking no argument. Steve had noticed that, while the doctors felt it was their right to order Steve around, they weren’t quite so sure about the brooding Omega. Some of them had deliberately put distance between themselves and Bucky, often placing Steve in between themselves and Bucky, which was silly as Steve wasn’t about to stop Bucky if he felt the need to attack or defend himself. It had only made the tests doubly irritating as he had had to turn his head from one side to the other to both watch the doctors and his mate.

Still, it was surprising that Bucky was siding with him and not the doctors so Steve looked at Bucky, but the Omega was ignoring him. It was wonderful having such a strong, powerful mate, but it sucked that Bucky was clearly displeased with him. Whether because he was incapable of remembering, or because of the incident when they’d met (again, Steve supposed), or something else, he didn’t know. Since he didn’t know, he couldn’t fix it.

“Fine,” one of the doctors conceded, unwilling to argue with Bucky’s stare. “Tomorrow. Eight AM.”

“Whatever,” Steve grumbled, focusing on Bucky again. “Are we going home?”

The answer Steve thought he knew already. His Omega, Natasha, had said Steve would stay in his own apartment, but had needed Bucky’s permission to make the arrangement. Not Bucky’s apartment, not their apartment, Steve’s. Alone, where his mate wanted him. Only, Steve didn’t understand how that could be true and he needed to hear it from Bucky’s lips.

“Let’s get out of here; we’ll talk on the way,” Bucky said as he started towards the door. 

Steve wasn’t long in following him, but Bucky didn’t slow down to wait for him, marching through the floor - still being cleaned up - to the stairs. They climbed since the elevator was apparently still being evaluated as safe, and Bucky was quiet for the first few flights. A bad sign, Steve thought, though he had no frame of reference for the it.

“You are going to sleep in your old place,” Bucky said. “It’s only a few floors up from mine.”

The words washed over Steve, making him cold. It’s what he expected to hear, but it still hurt. Though Bucky was his mate, Bucky clearly did not think the same.

“Yours,” Steve repeated. “I’ve displeased you. You don’t want me around.”

Bucky looked at Steve from the corner of his eye, not really facing him as they continued walking up the steps.

“It’s not about you displeasing me. I’m… a hard person to get close to. The old you knew that, knew me and all my triggers. You? I don’t know you. I won’t just strip down and get into bed with you.” Though it didn’t make him feel any better, Steve had to admit that was fair. “And it’s not like I’m exiling you to Siberia,” Bucky muttered before Steve could speak, “You don't have to look as if I kicked you. You can come down to visit.”

‘Visit’, Steve thought bitterly. Like out of town family you didn’t like very much.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Steve said neutrally. “I’ll stay wherever you think is best.”

“It’s not like we were ever attached at the hip.” Bucky was growing defensive now. “You did your thing, I did my thing. It’s just sleeping, okay? Don’t overthink.”

Frowning, Steve looked away, watching his feet as they continued to walk up the inside of the Tower. Apparently agreeing to Bucky’s plan wasn’t acceptable, either. He imagined what Bucky wanted was for him to be happy with the set up, but he couldn’t be and doubted his ability to fake the emotion. They were mated. Bucky was his, therefore they should be together. It didn’t help that Bucky was the only person Steve was sure of, the only one he knew he could trust. He’d known it the moment he saw him, him and Tony. They were his, but Tony had smelled like another Alpha. Bucky smelled like his; intimately, exclusively, his. Steve knew he could trust that. However, that trust was only one way.

It didn’t help that Steve really didn’t want to be alone in this strange place. So many things, people, places, he didn’t know and Bucky had been there so far, helped him through it all, guided him, supported him. It was silly to resent just a few floors of space, but Steve did. Wherever they were going, Steve already knew wouldn’t feel right because he wouldn’t have ever been there before today and he had to wonder if he and Bucky hadn’t been ‘attached at the hip’ how much Bucky would hate having him around constantly now, because Steve thought he needed it, needed him, and the comfort his presence gave. Not that anyone had asked him what he needed, or wanted.

God, Steve didn’t want to be alone right now.

“Will you eat with me?” Steve finally asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

“I’ll get you settled,” Bucky said, “but you’re on your own. I need to do as Natasha requested, see if any of my people know who’s behind this. Sooner we figure that out, sooner we can get you back to normal.”

Steve scowled. Normal, right.

\----

The apartment was as unfamiliar as Steve had expected. The only upside was that there was no scent of another Alpha in the place. Steve had looked. Rather, he’d been looking for the scent of his mate, but he hadn’t found that. He’d only found out that this was his territory, only his, no one else’s. 

Oh, and the ceiling talked. The ceiling was more friendly than anyone else Steve had met. The ceiling, JARVIS, had guided him on a tour of the rooms, shown him where the food was, and even helped him cook a meal. Discovering he could cook had been a strange, but enjoyable moment. Another silver lining Steve was trying to hold onto when everything else was so… disappointing. Even the apartment was a let down, no clues any where as to what kind of man he was. No pictures, or souvenirs, or photo albums. In living room he’d found an easel with a canvas and paints all laid out, but no work had been started. 

Steve was staring out the huge windows, wondering if the skyline should be familiar, when something chirped in the room. Spinning about, he saw nothing, nothing moved. It felt devastatingly lonely. There was no sign of other people in his room, and even though Bucky smelled like him, there was no mental connection between them.

“JARVIS?” Steve asked the ceiling. “What was that?”

“Your cell phone, Captain,” JARVIS said. “I believe it is on the side table,” Steve moved in the direction he thought was a ‘side table’ and stopped when JARVIS said, “Yes, there.”

To his pleasure, Steve realized he knew what a cell phone was now that it was in his hands. Flipping it open, he found the text message he’d been sent and hoped that Bucky had sent him a text. Maybe checking in or… Steve sighed, the contact being someone named Jim, and let go of his brief hope that Bucky had changed his mind about their living arrangements.

 **Jim:** You missed Motocross. What’s up? You get stuck in the dust up in Manhattan?

Tilting his head to the side, Steve tried to put a face to ‘Jim’, but of course there was nothing. Just that nothing, absolute nothing, that argued he had never met any Jim before this moment. Yet, here was the proof he was wrong. Jim had his phone number and they had had plans. Motocross plans. He’d have to use the phone to Google motocross later.

Well, at least someone had missed him. Maybe someone who wouldn’t mind if Steve didn’t want to be alone? Tentatively, worried about yet another disappointment, Steve replied to the text.

 **Steve:** I was in an accident. 

Steve texted cautiously. It was a little strange to reveal personal information to what was a complete stranger. The ping on his phone was quick, Jim apparently waiting for his answer. Maybe the stranger side was only one way? Unlike with everyone else he’d spent time with today.

 **Jim:** Crap. You okay?

Staring at the text, Steve felt a burst of anger. No one had asked him that yet. He’d had one, how are you feeling from a doctor, but that was it. Yet, Jim had asked and that deserved a real answer.

 **Steve:** All my memories are gone. I’m sorry, I don’t remember you or any plans. 

There was a moment where everything was quiet, the phone not showing any signs of file. The 

**Jim:** I’m on my way. With pictures.

The response took Steve aback, despite the gratitude he had been feeling toward Jim. Jim who also, apparently, knew where he lived. But pictures of what? Huffing, Steve realized he could just ask.

 **Steve:** Pictures of what?

As he waited for the response, Steve let himself imagine what the pictures were of. Himself with friends? Himself with his mate? If there were pictures like that, why didn’t Steve have any? Wasn’t that the kind of thing you put on the walls of your home?

Steve’s phone chimed.

 **Jim:** You failing miserably at beating me.

 **Steve:** At motocross?

 **Jim:** what else?

 **Steve:** I really wouldn’t know. 

Which was why he had asked. There was so much Steve didn’t know, he wasn’t sure even when the answer seemed so obvious. It was, he thought, not a pleasant way to live.

 **Jim:** Gonna be a few hours, especially with that dust up. You got someone with you?

Scowling, Steve typed out a quick answer and tried not to be bitter about it.

 **Steve:** No.

 **Jim:** Where’s your mate?

The bitterness was inescapable as Steve responded.

 **Steve:** He is not comfortable with who I am not any more. The others are busy. There was an attack.

 **Jim:** Jesus

 **Jim:** Okay, I’ll be there as fast as possible. Tell the security to let me in

Frowning, Steve wondered if he could do that.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain?” the ceiling answered.

“I have a friend coming over. Jim. Can you… tell security to let him in?”

“Of course, Captain. It would probably be best if you are not alone at this time.”

Steve sighed.

“Thanks.”

Looking down at his phone, Steve sighed again and tried to be grateful at least some people cared how he felt.

 **Steve:** I’ll be waiting.

\----

Steve wasn’t sure what to expect when he stepped out of the elevator. For one, he didn’t know what Jim looked like. For another, he had vaguely gathered a bomb had gone off earlier that day. To his surprise, it didn’t look like a charnel house. Debris had been swept and piled along the edges, but the floor itself was mostly clean and only a little scorched. The ceiling was a different story, sparking where something had punched a hole through it, but it was so high above him he wasn’t worried, especially when all the official people rushing about didn’t seem worried.

“Steve!” someone yelled and Steve turned to see a tall, slim man with artfully styled curly blond hair jogging towards him. His movements were smooth under his well fitting clothes, nice enough that Steve thought he was well off. The man’s grey eyes were focused directly on Steve, so he was clearly who the man wanted to talk to, and he looked harried and worried.

“Hey, what is going on? Bucky and Nat aren’t answering their phones and I can’t find anybody.”

“Um,” Steve said, off balanced as he again realized he had no idea if he knew this person. “Are you Jim?”

“What?” the man said, laughing awkwardly. “No. Is that some kind of joke?”

“No,” Steve said slowly, feeling even more uncomfortable. “Do I know you?”

“Do you…” The stranger laughed again, weakly, but then stopped as it finally seemed to occur to him that Steve really had no idea who he was. An Alpha, that’s all he got. “You really don’t know who I am,” he finished slowly.

“I was in an accident,” Steve said because it had worked with Jim.

The man laughed uncertainly and looked Steve up and down.

“It couldn’t be so bad,” he said, but without much conviction. “You look okay and, seriously, with the way you guys heal, if you are up and around already it couldn't have been bad, right?”

“I don’t remember anyone,” Steve said flatly, not liking how this Alpha was making so many assumptions about him. “It feels pretty bad.”

The Alpha opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap.

“I… yeah.” He was visibly changing tracks. “I’m Michael. We know each other through Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said politely, reaching out a hand and watched as Michael, apparently still flustered, met him halfway. “Bucky is fine. He’s busy. So is Natasha.”

Michael slumped, some tension leaving his frame. 

“Thank God. I hate that he never answers his phone,” Michael grumbled.

Steve focused on the shorter man, turning to face him fully as he realized he had an opportunity to learn more about his mate. So long as he didn’t make Michael suspicious, he could learn… Well, Steve didn’t know, but that was the problem.

“You’re Bucky’s friend?” Steve asked.

“I met him before I met you,” Michael answered, then something flashed through his eyes, his scent changing minutely, and he added, “We’re friends, too.”

Nodding, Steve had to reassess. Michael wasn’t as stupid as he’d seemed at first meeting. Getting information from him without appearing to do so would be a lot harder. Before he could try, though, another voice called out Steve’s name and a dark haired, well built man, waved at them. He was smiling, handsome, but no where near as gorgeous as Steve’s mate. 

Then he looked at Michael and his smile died.

“Michael?” the man asked, then shook himself, focused on Steve and held out his his hand. “Jim. You wouldn’t remember.”

“Hi, Jim,” Steve said, taking the offered hand with a smile. Why did this seem to be so hard for everyone except Jim?

“Yes,” Michael echoed, sounding stunned. “Hey... Jim.”

“I, um,” Jim cleared his throat and looked up at Steve again. “I didn’t know you knew Michael.”

The irony of that statement made Steve’s lips twitch.

“I didn’t know either until five minutes ago. He says he is friends with my mate and I.”

“Because I am,” Michael insisted, crossing his arms. “How’d you two meet?”

Even Steve’s damaged brain could tell there was some history between the two Alphas, but he couldn’t remember if he knew it. 

“Steve likes bikes,” Jim began.

“I do?” Steve asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Jim nodded, shrugging the bag on his shoulder into a more comfortable position, “you’ve got great taste. Not so great on the track, though.” Looking directly at Michael, Jim said, “I gave him that saddle you designed.”

Michael’s eyes went wide for a moment at hearing that. When he spoke, Michael’s voice held a thin thread of tension that Steve couldn’t place. It wasn’t hostile, but it was intense.

“I though it was for a soldier.” 

“Steve is a soldier,” Jim said shortly, then added in a somber tone, “the original client didn’t make it home.”

“Oh,” Michael managed, shifting from foot to foot, before lifting his head and tapping behind his ear. “I, uh, notice you’re bonded now.”

This time it was Jim who shuffled his feet, looking down and then up again. It was a very interesting interaction to be watching, not that it was telling him anything about his mate. It was telling him plenty about these two men, though. Perhaps Steve hadn’t mentioned to Michael he knew Jim for this exact reason. 

“Yeah,” Jim said. “His name’s Danny; he’s a Beta. A real firecracker.”

Something passed Michael’s face, a shadow that Steve couldn’t read, but could tell wasn’t anything good.

“Congratulations,” Michael saw, but his voice sounded strained. Like he was trying to sound polite, but couldn’t quite managing it.

“If you brought those pictures,” Steve interrupted before the tension between the Alphas could grow too thick, “we could move upstairs? I’d appreciate the company and we’d b-”

“What is going on here?” his mate’s voice interrupted from behind Steve. “JARVIS told me you left your floor.” 

Steve felt his stomach swoop, all amusement and pleasure in the moment vanishing at how irritated Bucky sounded. There was a definite growl in Bucky’s voice. A tiny shudder ran through Steve as he realizing just how much like an Alpha his Omega acted. It was incredibly arousing. Even that didn’t stop the anger in him, though, when his brain processed the words and not just the tone.

Turning to Bucky, Steve dropped his hands to his sides and said quietly, “I was not under the impression I had to stay there or that it was a prison.”

Bucky and Michael both flinched at that. Steve had no idea what he said that would make both of them react that way, but before he had time to do more than note the reaction, Bucky caught himself and was walking towards Steve from where he’d stopped several feet away. His steps were purposeful, ignoring the quiet warning Steve had put into his voice. At some point since Steve had last seen him, he had changed into black jeans, a red long sleeved shirt, and a black leather jacket. He wore thin, black gloves on his hands, effectively hiding the arm, and sturdy, well-worn combat boots. He was dressed for going out and that only made Steve feel the sting of the situation deeper.

“We don’t know what happened to you, you should rest,” Bucky said. “There’s no way to tell if you will not just keel over any minute. You need to stay where help can come to you easily.”

Frowning, Steve motioned around the lobby.

“Help would reach me here easier than anywhere else.”

“Regular EMT’s won't help,” Bucky argued, his jaw tense.

“Not my point,” Steve replied simply. “In my room there is only the ceiling to notice me. Here, there is the ceiling, Michael, Jim and all of these other people.”

“Hey!” Michael piped in from the background. “I know how to yell for help with the best of them.”

Steve felt something unknot in his chest and the defense and glanced over at the Alpha. While Jim was just watching, Michael had offered him some defense. He hadn’t just protected Bucky, like everyone else. It was… nice.

“Michael, don’t…” Bucky began.

“Don’t what?” Michael cut in so sharply it left Bucky silent. “Save you from your own obliviousness?”

Michael was probably the least imposing Alpha Steve had met today. He was fairly tall, but skinny as a rail, and had something soft in the way he presented himself. Even Jim had more of an Alpha presence to him and he was the shortest among them. The fact that Michael had lashed out at Bucky, so quick and firm, was a surprise, if a pleasant one. Apparently not only to Steve as Both Bucky and Jim were staring at Michael.

“You don’t know what happened to him,” Bucky argued. “He can’t be allowed to just wander the city right now!’

“I am not in the city,” Steve offered, not liking how angry Bucky was even if the way he was acting was unreasonable. “I was meeting a friend.”

Bucky turned to him.

“You are defenseless right now.” 

The words had Steve looking closer at Bucky, finally seeing the way Bucky was looking their little party over, his eyes skimming over Steve and Michael before landing on Jim. They flicked up and down the brunette’s body and his nostrils flared a little. In the space of a moment his neutral body language changed to one promising violence. It was disturbing how fast and how calculated it seemed. His shoulders pulled back, his chin lowering ever so slightly. He shifted his legs apart, grounding his stance, and drawing his attention unwillingly to the way the jeans stretched around the firm muscles.

Jim must have noticed too, because he stepped forward, but didn’t offer his hand and it took Steve a moment to remember Alphas didn’t do that to Omegas because it wasn’t polite.

“I’m Jim,” he said. “You must be Bucky. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Bucky hummed. 

“Didn’t hear a word about you,” Bucky said and Steve was taken aback by the blatant challenge in the words.

“Uh,” Jim said, glancing at Steve and then shrugging. “I don’t know about that, but Steve’s been out to hang out with us for the last few weeks. When he told me he was hurt, I thought it would be a good idea to pay a visit, remind him of the fun he’s been having; give him something to take his mind off it all.” Jim glanced nervously at Michael. “It’s what a good friend would do.”

“It is,” Michael assured, moving up so Jim was now sandwiched between both Steve and Michael, safe if Bucky did attack. Maybe. Steve didn't think he would have picked someone who wasn’t powerful and impressive. “Why don’t you show Bucky one of those pictures now?” As Jim pulled out his phone, fumbling with a lock screen, Michael said to Bucky, “Steve can’t remember anything to defend himself, but I’ve told you about Jim, Bucky.”

Bucky’s eyebrows went up and his eyes slid over the dark haired Alpha again. 

“That Jim?”

“That Jim,” Michael confirmed.

“I’m Jim,” Jim piped in at the end, a small grin tugging at his lips and Steve decided he liked Jim.

Bucky’s lips twitched momentarily in something that looked like it considered being a smile. It didn’t get there and Steve held back a sigh. He would have liked to see his mate smile; Bucky hadn’t yet. He also hated that everyone else seemed capable of getting Bucky to listen except him.

“You got balls,” his mate said reluctantly to Jim. 

“Thank’s. I’m also pretty attached to them., in case you were considering going for some forceful removal.” The Alpha shrugged. “Just putting it out there.”

Bucky snorted, and his body language relaxed from its former impending violence. It was funny and Steve probably would have smiled, if he still wasn’t remembering how unreasonable Bucky had been moments before Michael had intervened.

“Maybe not right now,” Bucky allowed, tilting his body a little away from them, giving Jim a clear way past if he wanted it. Steve was starting to think that his mate was better at communicating with body language than he was with words.

“How considerate,” Jim said with a grin, then held out his phone to Bucky. Steve crossed his arms over his chest, holding in the abrupt feeling of hurt and anger that had wrapped around him. He hadn’t seen any of those pictures and they were about him. If Bucky wasn’t so… angry, Steve would have considered letting himself be selfish and take the phone before Bucky could. “Want to see your mate failing embarrassingly at motocross racing?”

“Yes,” his mate said with what Steve could only call an evil glint in his eyes.

“He’s just worried about you, you know?” Michael said quietly, moving closer to Steve as Jim was showing Bucky the picture, or video, or whatever it was on his phone.

Glancing at the shorter Alpha, Steve tried to figure out why Michael was telling him that and could only draw blanks. There wasn’t enough information.

“I am uncertain how trapping me in my room and disallowing me visits from friends is a solution to worry.”

Michael touched Steve’s arm, drawing Steve’s focus down to his fingers. No one else except the doctors and nurses prodding him had voluntarily touched him today. He’d begun to think he didn’t like it, but… no. It was soothing.

“Steve,” Michael said seriously, “Bucky is intensely possessive of you. This behavior wouldn’t be outside of norm even if you did remember everything.”

Though he wasn’t sure that was still a good reason for everything that had happened, Michael’s words gave Steve some hope he’d been losing. Bucky worried about him, cared enough he would be hurt he wanted Steve in one place where he could be kept an eye on. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough he looked down at his feet and nodded, conceding the point. If that meant he was going to be stuck in that empty, lonely room for a while, he’d try to deal with it for his mate’s sake.

Lifting his head, Steve made himself say, “Like I was saying earlier, we’d probably be more comfortable in my room. Would anyone object to a change of scenery?”

“I’m going to get back to my floor and start cooking,” Michael said, stepping away. “Get the feeling no one’s going to have the time.”

“Steve ate,” Bucky said, looking up from Jim’s phone.

Steve opened his mouth and closed it, staring at his mate. Then he looked at the ceiling and decided he had to have a chat with it about discussing his every move with Bucky. Accident or no, it was weird and he didn’t like it at all.

“Then for everyone else,” Michael said with a roll of his eyes. “I swear, you are making my habit of feeding people even worse. It’s like none of you know how to feed yourselves properly. At least Steve is figuring it out.”

“Tony knows how to order food,” Bucky said seriously, but Michael cringed.

“Takeout,” Michael said in a tone suggesting something downright vile. “And I can eat anything, even cold leftovers.”

“Evil, evil, take out,” Jim teased as if it was an old joke and Steve felt oddly left out.

“OK!” Michael threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine! My instincts are triggered! I’m off to cook!”

Though feeling left out, Steve found himself smiling before he turned toward Bucky who was handing Jim his phone back. He already knew the answer from the look on his face, but still Steve had to hear him say it.

“Are you going to join us?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, “still too much to do. You two have fun. Nice to meet you, Jim.”

Though Jim frowned, phone slipping into his pocket, he nodded to Bucky.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. See you later.”

Nodding, Bucky headed past them, out the front door. Steve turned and watched him go, feeling a frown tug at his lips. Moving to his side, Jim bumped their shoulders together.

“He’s in a hurry,” Jim prompted.

“Lots to do,” Steve mumbled, then made himself smile at the other Alpha. At least he wasn't about to be alone for the next little while. “Come on, I’m this way.”

\----

Spending the night in an empty room was not one of the best experiences Steve could imagine, but he had after Jim left. The few hours of his company had killed some of the simmering bitterness under his skin, but the next day wasn't much better. He had wandered out to the lounge with one of the clean sketchbooks he had found in the drawer full of them. There were so many it had sent Steve’s head spinning, but at least looking through them all had spent a few hours. Well, until he found the ones with just Bucky in them. A Bucky Steve had never seen, soft and open, vulnerable and with such gentle eyes… A smiling Bucky. One with expressive face and even more expressive hands. Both human hands. That was what indicated it had to have been in the past, probably even more than the openness of his face.

A mate he had never met. A mate that belonged to another Steve. A mate who he hadn't seen since he’d walked out the Tower doors.

JARVIS had directed Steve to the lounge, suggesting Bucky - Sergeant Barnes - wouldn’t be upset if he went there. Now after an hour sketching a skyline he still didn’t find familiar, Steve started as the elevators opened. A small redheaded woman and a small man with dark hair and matching beard stepped out. The both paused at seeing him, surprise in their eyes, but then smiled.

Shit, Steve thought, he was supposed to know them.

Smiling weakly, Steve sniffed, hoping for any clue that would jog something, any tiny memory, because visually they told him nothing. Then they got closer and he realized he knew their scent. Both were omegas. Both smelled like him. Then it hit him like a lightning bolt; Tony and Natasha. He knew them. He’d met them the day before. Natasha had been submissive, Tony hurt, and that explained the cast on his ankle. They’d talked around him, sided with Bucky, been upset Steve wasn’t the Steve they knew.

Fear solidified in Steve’s stomach. He wasn’t getting better. He was getting worse. These were people he had met, not the other Steve, yet he hadn’t known them. Their faces had just vanished like it had never happened because he hadn’t seen them in a few hours. Would that happen with everyone? With Bucky?

“Hey, Cap,” Tony called, sitting down before him on the couch’s matching ottoman. “How you feeling?”

“Alright,” Steve lied, wondering what these people would do to him if he said he was worse. They’d already confined him to this lounge or his room. They had shown they were far more concerned with the Steve that was than with him. Would they lock him into these places? Make it so he could never leave? Would they send him back to the doctors to run endless tests until they figured out what was wrong with him? And what would the doctors do if they couldn’t figure it out? They’d had no further progress this morning. 

“You sure?” Natasha asked. “You look a little pale there, Steve.”

“I’m sure,” Steve lied again. “How were the,” Steve motioned with his hand, swirling his finger in a circle, “All your plans from yesterday?” 

So what if he couldn’t remember them? They were all but strangers to him anyway. Maybe he was just bad with faces and there wasn’t even anything to worry about.

“One big headache,” Natasha said with a deep sigh, dropping onto the couch to Steve’s left. “People either don’t know anything or refuse to talk. Either one it is, doesn’t bode well. There aren’t many people who can make the underbelly of the city go mum like this.”

“Sharon and I kept Fury busy and away from the vault. I also ran an inventory with JARVIS - ah, well, we’re still running it, trying to figure out what all is missing.”

“It's more than one thing, then?” Steve asked, looking from one to the other.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, “but I’m not sure if that was intentional or not. It would be best to take a lot of things, even if you only wanted one.”

“Throw off the scent,” Steve agreed, nodding along. “Any guesses on which item was the target?”

Tony grimaced and Steve reached out to touch his knee as his scent filled with worry and stress. The Omega wasn’t completely his, but that little bit made Steve’s chest feel tight sensing his distress. Though, Bucky’s scent never changed like that and he had to wonder why. Steve suspected it was because his mate was so good at controlling his emotions.

“It’s alright,” Tony assured, but he didn’t brush off Steve’s hand, “just haven’t slept because, really, several items taken are game changers. Stuff I couldn’t destroy for various reasons and we didn’t trust to hand over to Fury. Whoever’s got them - it’s gonna be bad.”

“On the bright side,” Natasha interjected at the same time Tony relaxed because Steve started rubbing his thumb against the joint of his knee, “there’s no chatter in the Black Market. Whoever stole this stuff, wants it for themselves. We won’t have to be running all over, chasing down half a dozen different wanna be supervillains with new toys.”

“Just one supervillain with six toys,” Steve pointed out.

Sighing again, Natasha flipped her hair and nodded.

“Pretty much. And with you out for the count -”

Steve frowned and said, “I am not incapable of taking care of myself. Most of my skills appear intact.”

“Of course you are,” Natasha said too quickly, her posture shifting to something small and submissive and dishonest that made Steve want to break something, “but we’re not used to you not being in command. So, for now, let’s just assume you’re out of our plans.”

Though he didn’t like it, Steve didn’t think it was the time to argue. 

“Fine,” he agreed shortly, relaxing only when Tony put his hand over Steve’s. After Jim’s hand shakes, Michael touching his arm, Tony’s contact was all he’d had since he’d woken up. The doctors and nurses really didn’t count and Steve was craving human contact. “So what’s the plan now?”

“We keep looking,” Natasha said, spreading her hands. “It’s all we can do.”

“Well, we can also start preparing for another attack,” Tony interrupted, cracking his neck. “I’ve already started a plan and upgrades, should be done in a few days if I don’t sleep.”

Steve scowled.

“You’ve already not slept. It’s not good for you.”

“It’s normal,” Tony protested.

“That’s not an excuse,” Steve huffed. “I was told your bonded is Pepper. Do I need to speak with her about it if you won’t listen to me?”

Natasha snicked and Tony winced. A voice from the elevator whistled and said, “Oh, man, pulling out the big guns.”

Steve looked over along with the two Omegas. The man with Bucky he didn’t recognize, shorter, a nice smile, Beta, and walking toward Steve. A glance at the others said he wasn’t a threat, so Steve took the offered hand.

“Sam Wilson,” the Beta said. “Your best friend.”

“Oh,” Steve blinked and said, “Hi, Sam,” but was thinking that even as he did he should have realized he was a friend from scenting him. Over the Beta smell was Steve’s Alpha scent. A friend, a pack member, and that could be very useful. Even if he lost the ability to remember a person after scenting them, he could remember that anyone who smelled like him was a friend. All that would require was marking the people he was sure of as often as possible.

“No ‘hi’ for me?” Bucky asked, stopping within Steve’s reach, but not touching him. The Omega was dressed similarly to how he had seen him the day before, black jeans, red long sleeved shirt, black gloves and combat boots. The leather jacket was missing.

Briefly, Steve closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. It was clear he could do nothing right with his mate, but he didn’t think this instance was anything to get worked up over. Bucky’d wanted him to say hi, that was a good thing. If he didn’t appreciate Steve was attempting to ascertain if a stranger was a threat, it was far less important. Only when he’d reminded himself of that, did Steve look at Bucky and summon a small smile for his mate. 

“Hey, Bucky. I was just trying to figure out if Sam was a threat or not. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“I wouldn’t let a threat near you right now,” Bucky huffed, a bit of a growl in his voice. “If I brought him in, he’s okay.”

Lifting his hand from between Tony’s and Tony’s knee, Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t going to argue about it. He wasn’t. It wasn’t worth it.

“Right, sorry,” Steve said instead.

“Why are you sorry?” Bucky frowned. “I’m more than capable of killing unenhanced humans.”

“Thank’s man,” Sam grumbled. “Always nice to know you think it’s easy to kill me.”

Bucky’s head swung towards Sam, the frown deepening.

“You are stressing him,” Bucky hissed at Sam. “You are not doing a good job of being a best friend,”

The statements took Steve aback and he settled back onto the couch. Had Bucky brought Sam for him? Because that would be… nice. Not as nice as having his mate, but better than thinking Bucky was ignoring him entirely.

“Come on, Sam, sit,” Tony interjected, hopping from his place on the ottoman before Steve and sliding into the spot between him and Natasha. It was close, their legs and shoulders touching, and Steve liked that, too. A second later, he was yanking Steve’s arm up, dropping it around his shoulders, and then curling into his side. “You all talk. I’m sleeping. Alpha orders.”

Though he was uncertain, Steve settled his arm around Tony’s shoulders, watching him intently to see if he was doing something wrong. From Tony’s behavior, this seemed to be a common way he napped because he didn’t even open his eyes. He laid his head against Steve and let out a long, slow breath as his body relaxed. It was only that relaxation that cued Steve into seeing how tense the Omega had been earlier. It felt… surprisingly good. As if he was helping. The trust and closeness… Yes, he liked that very much.

Looking up from Tony, Steve found everyone staring at them like they’d both grown two heads.

“What?” Steve demanded, but pitched his voice low so he wouldn’t bother Tony more than necessary. His mate in particular was was standing further away than before, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders thrown back in an aggressive gesture that stretched the cotton of his shirt over his powerful pecs. He was staring at Tony with dark eyes, his mouth pulled down in a scowl.

Something hot and painful twisted in Steve’s chest because he wanted this. He wanted this so bad. This moment where he’d finally stopped feeling too big for his skin, like he was going to explode at any moment. Being cuddled and entrusted with Tony’s rest had felt so good. Like he’d finally belonged and was wanted. Yet having that meant hurting his mate.

“Bucky,” Steve began, leaning forward enough Tony swatted at him and shoved him back into the couch.

“Sit still, pillow,” Tony grumbled, voice thick with sleep already.

When Steve looked back up at Bucky, he was another step away, but Sam was holding a hand out to him in a gesture to stay put. That gave Steve pause because his best friend, Bucky’s words, was telling him not to chase after his mate.

“Bucky,” Sam said slowly, “this isn’t anything new. Tony’s hurt, hasn’t slept, and you know he doesn’t do well without Steve or Pepper there.”

Unconsciously, Steve tightened his arm around Tony. No one had told him that.

“I didn't say anything,” Bucky growled, moving another step back, his hands deep in his pockets.

“You didn't have to,” Natasha piped in, her tone wry. A moment later, she was climbing to her feet. “Come on, Grumpy Cat, you can help me get some work done. How’s that sound?” She sing-songed, “Might even get to punch a guy in the face.”

“That does sound nice.” 

Bucky pulled his hands from his pockets and turned towards the elevator. He looked at Steve over his shoulder, his eyes scanning up and down Steve’s body. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. He remained quiet as Natasha caught up to him, throwing a wave to the Sam and Steve. Then they were in the elevator and gone and Steve felt like he’d been sucker punched.

“You okay?” 

Sam’s voice pulled Steve’s gaze from the elevator and he took a deep, shaky breath.

“I can’t make him happy,” Steve said softly.

“You are making him happy,” Sam immediately denied. “Before you two bonded we were halfway convinced he would just be gone one morning. He stayed, though. Because he wanted to stay with you. He’s here now because he wants to be. Even if he has the shittiest personal skills I have ever saw in a fully functional adult, that’s true, Steve.”

Licking his lips, Steve tucked Tony closer to his side and said slowly, for the first time aloud, “That was the person I was.”

“Yeah,” Sam conceded with only a moment’s hesitation, “but it’s only been a few days. You’ll get there, we all will. It’s going to take some adjustments for… Well,” Sam tossed his hand at Tony and looked exasperated, “for everyone but Tony.”

Steve looked down at the Omega sleeping in his lap.

“I like Tony,” he said quietly.

Sam huffed.

“We know you do. You always did. You and him are compatible after all.”

“I like Bucky, too,” Steve insisted, not liking the way Sam said that. “I want to make him happy.”

“When we all met Bucky,” Sam said, finally taking a seat on the ottoman like Tony had suggested, “I honestly believed you were the only one that liked him. He terrified Natasha for some reason, and she’s not easily scared. Tony couldn't stand him, and the first time he met me, he made it quite clear that I was so easy to kill he didn't have to worry about me at all. I think only Clint halfway tolerated the guy. The fact that you were so besotted with him didn’t sit well with anybody, not at first.”

“What made you change your mind about him?” Steve asked, still looking down at Tony whose lips were moving as he seemed to talk to himself in his sleep. It was really rather adorable and he looked so… peaceful. He hadn’t ever looked peaceful while awake

“As strange as it seemed, the guy made you happy. That went a long way in changing the way we all looked at him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Steve asked, twisting his head to see if there was a blanket around he could throw over Tony and not spotting one, much to his displeasure. He tugged Tony closer instead.

“Because you blame yourself for his behavior. Bucky is a lot like a feral cat that was tamed by one person. He will let that person touch him and be close, but will pull away from anybody else. Don’t blame yourself for his quirks and hangups. That’s on him, not you.”

Focusing on Sam again, Steve was surprised to see the open, soft expression on his face. Trusting Steve as much as Tony did. It unwound another knot in his chest.

“Thanks,” he said and found his voice rough.

“Anytime,” Sam said, smiling as he leaned back, “I mean that. This can’t be easy on you, having so many people who relied on you and you don’t know what they need.”

Feeling an epiphany wash over him, Steve asked, “Who do I rely on?”

When Sam grimaced, Steve thought he knew the answer, and the heart of all his problems even before he spoke.

“No one.”

Closing his eyes, Steve swallowed hard. He was alone, lonely, and no one seemed to notice or care. It wasn’t that, he guessed. It was that they didn’t know. He didn’t tell them, didn’t rely on them, and he isolated himself before his memories were gone. Worst of all, Steve didn’t know how to fix it.

\----

“Captain?” JARVIS interrupted Steve as he was about to start cooking his dinner. “Sergeant Barnes would like you to join him for dinner. He’s suggesting take-out.”

Steve’s heart leapt in his throat and he shoved the prep work into the fridge as fast as he could move.

“Tell him I’ll be down in a minute,” Steve said, finding he was grinning. “Show me the way?”

“Of course, Captain,” JARVIS agreed.

The entire way, Steve was practically bouncing as he walked. Bucky hadn’t appeared again since leaving the lounge with Natasha and, despite Sam’s reassurance, Steve wasn’t sure he would. His mind had been on his mate, though. Even with Tony curled into his side, Steve had thought of Bucky. What was he doing? How could Steve make it all up to him? When would Steve see him again?

Now, Steve grinned. He was going to see Bucky now and for dinner. A thing couples did.

The door to the apartment opened as Steve got there and his mate stood up before him. Steve sucked in a breath. Bucky was dressed in a thin t-shirt and low slung sweats, barefoot and he couldn't help but find that charming as hell. The t-shirt was just an ordinary white affair, the thin cotton leaving nothing to the imagination. Steve found himself smiling brighter at the sight, butterflies swooping in his stomach. Bucky looked so comfortable waiting for him.

Before either one of them could speak, something sharp stabbed into Steve’s calf, then his thigh, and he yelped even as he looked down to find a cat climbing him like a tree. It was not the kind of tree climbing Steve wanted to be happening, but the little orange, stripped thing was now crying, continuing up his hip, trying to catch his attention. It was painful, but kind of like Bucky: adorable as all hell.

“Red Beast missed you,” Bucky said as Steve pulled the cat from him, held it before him, and stared at it. 

The cat meowed.

“Red Beast?” Steve nearly choked on a laugh. “Who called the cat Red Beast?” The repetition of it’s name had the cat - no, kitten - meowing again so Steve took pity on it and cradled it in his arms. “Is it yours?”

“Ours,” Bucky huffed. “I named him, you named Sergeant Tibbs.”

“Two cats?” Steve asked, surprised. “I like cats?”

Bucky turned back, looked down, then bent down to scoop up a little ball of white fluff. He extended his hand towards Steve, showing him the kitten hanging from it like a limp rag, obviously used to the handling and not caring about it.

“I guess I like cats,” Steve said, taking that as an answer. As Red Beast began to purr against his chest, he thought maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, but god damn, that was not the kind of tree climbing Steve wanted to experience. Now, if Bucky wanted to climb him, that was another story.

“I was as surprised as you,” Bucky said moving back to let Steve in. “I brought this one from the street on an impulse. Next morning you brought the Red Beast. Gave me a heart attack.”

“It did? Why?” 

Chancing it, Steve crept closer to Bucky and scratched the top of the white kitten's head with a finger. It began purring, then chewing on Bucky’s metal thumb. Bucky didn’t back away, so that was another good sign.

“I guess you didn’t want Tibbs to get lonely when we are out,” Bucky said. “You were right, it turned out. After the bombing I found them huddled together, but not as terrified I assumed they would be.”

“After the,” Steve frowned, looking up at Bucky with some concern. Then he bit his tongue, changing his instinctive fear that Bucky didn’t want his help, to saying, “I’ll help you with them, if you want me to. I… I don’t want you to think you have to do things we did together before, alone. If you want to,” Steve stumbled to add as Bucky’s fathomless grey eyes turned to him, ”I would never say you can’t, or aren’t capable, I just… don’t want to leave you,” Steve fumbled for a word for a moment, “alone.”

Bucky looked at him for a moment, eyes dark but soft.

“I know,” he said surprisingly softly. “And I wouldn’t let you if you tried. I would follow you.”

Opening his mouth, Steve found his throat had closed and he couldn’t speak. It was so… much. Bucky’s declaration was everything he’d wanted for the past two days in three quiet sentences. Yet his Omega didn’t seem to see anything special about it, just mere facts.

“Come on, I ordered chinese.” Bucky said.

“Because I like chinese?” Steve asked, all he could manage to get his mouth to say.

“No,” Bucky denied easily, “because they deliver the fastest.” He lead Steve to what appeared to be a small dining room where the coffee table was packed full of little cardboard boxes, at least twenty of them. They did smell delicious even from where he stood. “And takeout has nothing on Michael’s cooking anyway.”

Steve had to agree. The pasta dish Michael had delivered to his room had been outstanding. It had been a sad moment when there was no more left. 

“So, um,” Steve tried as Bucky sat and he joined him across the little table, “Did you enjoy punching people in the face?”

“Yes,” Bucky said with a little head nod and obvious relish. “It felt good.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the pleasure clear on Bucky’s face.

“I like establishing my dominance, yeah.” Bucky cast him a quick smile, there and gone and lowered his eyes to look up at Steve from beneath them. Melting, staring helplessly at his mate, he at least couldn’t say he didn’t know why he wanted Bucky. He was gone on the guy even now. “I find most Alphas hilariously weak and in severe need of a reality check.”

“You certainly gave me one,” Steve said as he took the plate Bucky had made for him. “You seem to be the one in charge between us.”

Bucky’s eyebrows went up.

“You were an exception,” he said after a moment, picking up a fork. “I couldn’t catch you out on any of the usual things. Got me intrigued pretty fast.” Bucky licked his lips. “You give in sometimes,” he allowed, “but I don’t see it as me being in charge of anything.” 

Bucky shifted on the couch, pulling one of his legs under him, giving Steve again a nice view of the powerful thighs. Steve really wanted to touch them, to run his hands over the curved muscle and feel how hard it was. How warm. Having Tony curled against him had been nice, but he really wanted that from Bucky.

“Before,” Steve said, “but now… having you around helps guide me. Everything is strange and you’re… well, not nice about it, but very clear and I think that’s better.”

Bucky laughed out loud then, teeth showing as he threw his head back briefly, showing Steve his throat in all it’s glory, and Steve forgot to finish bringing his chopsticks to his mouth.

“Usually you complain I’m hard to understand. It’s kinda funny to hear you say I am clear about things.” Bucky shifted again, reaching for another container of food. “Just so you know, I’m going to remind you of this whenever you complain about my oddness again.”

“That doesn't mean anything to me,” Steve said honestly, now managing to finish bringing the food up so he could eat it.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” Bucky said thoughtfully between rapid bites of food. He ate like a starving man. “It frustrated me to no end to see you hold yourself back all the time.”

“Don’t seem to like it much when I don’t, either,” Steve pointed out. “Like I said, though, I appreciate it. That growl of yours is impossible to misinterpret. Very impressive, too. And I, uh, might like you bossing me around.”

Purposefully, Steve sniffed, scenting the air. Bucky had smelled nice from the very first meeting. There was a tangy sweetness to his scent that sent little shivers down Steve’s back and made his cock pay attention. It was a subtle thing, but after another bite he recognized it. Heat scent. Bucky was close to one and though his head was aching now, he hoped his mate wasn’t so displeased with him he would want to go through it alone.

Bucky stopped with chopsticks halfway to his mouth, mouth half open and glistening from the greasy food.

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” he said slowly, “you are usually very enthusiastic with manhandling me any which way.”

Stabbing his food a bit too viciously, Steve said, “I’ve tried not to touch you since. I didn’t… realize it wasn’t alright, what I was doing, and you don’t seem to want me to.”

Bucky aborted picking up more food with the chopsticks, closing them between his fingers, and fiddling with them instead.

“Logically, I know you didn’t mean it,” Bucky said after a moment of silence. “I know it. But… unwittingly or not, you managed to do the thing you swore you would never do again. It’s…” Bucky huffed. “I don’t want to talk about my past right now. There’s food,” he mentioned to the table full of white boxes, “and if I started talking, neither one of us would feel like eating. And it’s not that I don’t want you to touch me, okay? I chose you when I thought I couldn’t stand an Alpha’s touch ever again and I never regretted it. I have my issues and I guess I got used to you working around them, so it’s difficult now when you don’t remember. It doesn’t mean I suddenly stopped accepting you, or wanting you.”

“Okay,” Steve said roughly and watched his mate flash him another breathtaking smile.

“Then let’s eat.”

Steve dug in with relish, the food monumentally more tasty with Bucky’s smile, his acceptance. Between them, demolishing the amount of food on the table took no time at all. The kittens were gallivanting under the table, chasing each other and tripping over their own feet, Steve’s feet and sometimes the air. He couldn't help but laugh when the Red Beast face planted into the carpet for the second time for no reason whatsoever. He was aware of Bucky watching him watching the cats, the omega more relaxed now than ever before.

When they were done, Bucky gathered up the containers and their plates, taking all into the kitchen. The white containers went into the trash, the plates into the sink. Steve stood as he watched Bucky bend over, turn on the sink, and start hand scrubbing their plates. 

Crossing into the kitchen, Steve inhaled Bucky’s scent again and his body reacted as it had before with longing and desire. There were plenty of Omegas here, all attractive, all drawn to him, but none as attractive as Bucky. It wasn’t just the look of him, though that was above the pale, it was how he held himself, the way he moved, his voice and his confidence. They drew Steve like a moth to the flame and even if it burned, Steve was happy to come closer. 

Wrapping his hands around Bucky’s hips, he pressed close and brushed his lips against Bucky’s neck. Then it was instinct that had him raising his hand and blocking the metal elbow coming at his head. It was even before he heard the whine and Steve grunted with the effort of holding it back, the force sliding him backward several inches. There was no time to determine what he’d done wrong. The metal arm mad that peculiar sound as it was launched at him again. Steve was able to block that hit too, but the point of connection throbbed.

Snarling as his blood sang and he quickly backed away and slipped into a crouch. He held there even as he realised that under all that anger, Bucky was terrified. It was thick in the air as he panted, chest heaving as he took short, sharp breaths. Every muscle was tense as a board, his stance matching Steve, defensive and ready for a fight.

Confused, angry, and a little terrified himself Steve backed up a few more paces, giving Bucky as much space as he could, but not dropping his guard. He had no idea why he’d been attacked, what he’d done. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t done anything wrong and he wasn’t about to leave himself vulnerable to whatever was causing Bucky to freak out.

“Fuck,” Bucky said shakily, his voice rough as he straightened from his crouch. He ran his hand through his hair, yanking in his agitation. “Jesus, fuck,” he repeated.

Thinking maybe whatever it was was over, Steve relaxed as well, but Bucky flinched back at the movement and raised his arm defensively. At least, he started to. Bucky caught it halfway and forced it back down. The fear was gone from his expression, but the tension in his body grew impossibly tighter, so Steve quickly backed away another several steps again.

“I think you should go,” Bucky said tightly, watching as Steve carefully as if Steve was an enemy.

“Go?” Steve repeated, the words making his stomach churn even as he took yet another step back, out of the kitchen entirely.

“I… I need to be alone right now,” Bucky’s voice sounded rough and he was still watching Steve carefuly.

“O-okay,” Steve swallowed hard, because even a blind man could tell arguing with Bucky now was foolish. Not when the Omega was so worried up, so afraid. “Did I do something…?”

“Just go,” Bucky snapped, harsher than ever, moving back from Steve to the far side of the kitchen. Whatever had happened, there was nothing Steve could do to fix it. Not now. Hopefully, he would be able to fix it later, whatever it was he’d done. He tried to swallow down the bitter sense of disappointment burning low in his chest, the sting of such a violent rejection leaving a sour taste in his throat. For now, he retreated, backing into the living room, then to the door. He wasn’t going to turn his back on Bucky, not someone so dangerous, not until the door closed between them. Then it was back to his room, alone, with his mate’s scent still in his nose.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve hesitated in the doorway of the common room. It wasn’t rare, the Alpha uncertain of his welcome in seemingly every situation. Sam couldn’t even imagine what he was going through, how unsettling it had to be in this place without any reference to how he had gotten there, or who they all were. Likely, Bucky’s prickly personality wasn’t helping either.

“Hey, Steve!” Sam smiled at him, trying to project as much friendliness as possible to coax the Alpha closer.

“Hey,” Steve said awkwardly. He came over also, however, so that was one victory. He took a seat across from Sam and stared at him intently. Just when Sam was about to break the tension, he asked, “Why aren’t there more people visiting me? There are so many people marked with my scent, yet the only one that’s come to visit was somebody from outside the tower.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something but then closed it and looked at Steve thoughtfully. That question coming from the old Steve and this Steve was a completely different matter and required a different answer. Old Steve, for instance, never would have asked why no one was coming to his room. Old Steve never wanted anyone to go there.

“In the time I’ve known you,” Sam explained, “you’ve been firm about your boundaries. You never invite anyone home and we learned to respect that and for you to come to us. Because you can come to us, even now. I hope you know that.”

“Bucky doesn’t like me being out of my room,” Steve argued and Sam noted he’d need to talk to Bucky about that. As he did, he saw Steve gear up to continue. “I don’t like it. I don’t like being alone.”

Hearing those words from Steve was more than a little surprise. Steve hadnever admitted to anything like that.

“You don’t have to be alone, Steve,” Sam said gently. “All you need to do is give us a sign we are welcome and you won't be able to get away from your pack.”

Scowling, Steve said, “Then is this my sign? Or do I have to do something else?”

“This is a very good sign. You want us all en masse or can we switch the schedule from watching over you to actually spending time with you?”

“What schedule?” Steve asked slowly, a deep furrow between his brows.

“Oh man,” Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

\----

“You can just say it,” Michael pressed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Whatever’s bothering you.”

“No one wants to hear it,” Steve said shortly, his back still turned, shutting Michael out with his body language. Michael used the fact Steve wasn’t looking at him to roll his eyes. He had wondered what had attracted Steve to Bucky in the first place. Not the physical attraction, that was a no-brainer, but the deeper attraction that had led them to bond. They had seemed too different. Bucky was instinctive, visceral, down-to-Earth, and fairly easy to predict. Steve was this public figure one couldn’t really get to know, strange, and at the same time too perfect and artificial. Looking at the bitterness, the hair-trigger temper, was eerily like looking at Bucky. The two shits were suddenly way too similar for his comfort, the loss of memory stripping Steve of his artificial masks and making him human for once.

“Steve,” Michael sighed. Sure, he’d come to the tower to support Bucky, but it was Steve that needed the support right now and he’d quickly volunteered for the CBAD. Which was what he should have expected, because Bucky wasn’t equipped with enough patience and empathy to deal with an injury that wasn’t physical in nature. “We’re friends. I want to hear it. Let me help.” 

He might be pushing the friends thing a little, but Michael was sure they would have eventually become friends.

“Help,” Steve repeated, glancing at Michael skeptically. “How _exactly_ do you want to ‘help’?”

Michael winced, hearing dozens of conversations where the help Steve had wanted hadn’t been what he’d gotten. It was the only explanation for why anyone who was as loved as Steve was so suspicious of the offer. The rest of the Avengers had to be bending over backwards to help him, yet another offer wasn’t welcome. It had only been a week, but Steve was developing some powerful defenses and paranoia.

“Just to listen,” Michael assured, “if that’s all you want me to do. Whatever you need me to do right now, Steve.”

The tension in Steve’s shoulders grew as he stilled, turning halfway as he looked at Michael. This look was even more suspicious than the last. His blue eyes swept Michael up and down, assessing, debating, but not hostile for once. Deciding, Michael realized, if he would take the hand Michael was holding out. 

“What I need,” Steve finally said, “is help making dinner.” He pushed the cutting board to his right, where Michael could reach it if he wanted. “Still in?”

A challenge, Michael realized, even as he smiled. 

“If food is what you need, you’ve come to the right man. Shift it, Hero.”

Momentarily surprised, Steve’s face relaxed and he stepped aside as instructed. Michael didn’t smirk because he imagined Steve wouldn’t understand why this was a victory, or how amusing it was that he was acting so like Bucky. All Michael did was take the cutting board and pick up where Steve had left off with the celery. Bracing the tip of the knife against the board, he started to chop finely, not paying much attention to his hands. He smirked when he caught Steve staring.

“What are we making?” Michael asked.

“Casserole,” Steve answered. His eyes darted downwards, and he added more uncertainly, “I found it on Pinterest.”

“You’re on Pinterest, too?” Michael grinned at Steve. “I get some great recipes off there.”

Very slowly, Steve smiled back. It was the first smile he’d ever favored Michael with and it was as beautiful as every one he’d given Bucky. Some of the tension dropped from his shoulders, though he was still cautious, still wary. Michael had passed this test, however. The only question that left, was why it had been a test at all.

“I like it,” Steve said, moving to the fridge and pulling out more ingredients - tuna, cheese. “Lots of neat things on there.”

“And yet you acted like you were ashamed to admit you frequented the site.”

Steve stilled, then carefully set out his ingredients on the counter. Instead of pushing, Michael waited, watching Steve pull noodles and a pot from different cabinets. It wasn’t until he’d filled the pot with water that he answered.

“I’m not supposed to be good with technology.”

_Oh_. Michael wondered who had said that. Who had seen Steve accessing a computer, or his phone, and been surprised that he could? Probably not Bucky, maybe Stark, or one of the others, but what _else_ had they said? How many other times had they told Steve he wasn’t acting, or behaving the way they expected? The way they _wanted_. 

From their perspective, Michael could understand. They wanted their friend back, not a reminder that he had been taken from them. He understood Steve’s, too, however. That _he_ wasn’t gone, he was here, and they were pushing him away. Well, good thing Michael had stretched that friendship line as he didn’t have any expectations about Steve at all.

“Well, guess if you get back to normal you’ll have surprised yourself.”

Steve’s head snapped to him.

“If?”

Michael swallowed. Woops. Hopefully Bucky wouldn’t take his head off for that.

“Well, I suppose it is a possibility, isn’t it?” Michael hedged. “I don’t mean to suggest you won’t get better, I know you probably want for everything to be back to normal?”

“I want…” 

Steve shook his head and dumped the noodles into his pot. 

“You can tell me,” Michael urged gently. “I won’t judge you.”

“I don’t even know what normal means,” Steve said bitterly, his shoulders hovering up by his ears. “I want to just… _find_ my own normal, instead of everyone telling me what it’s supposed to be. So… so if I _want_ to go on Pinterest and find a recipe, I’m damned well gonna, and if it has tuna in it, I’m damn well gonna decide if I like it.”

Michael stared at Steve, realizing as Steve’s shoulders climbed yet higher and his breathing grew harsh, that this situation was far worse than he’d thought.

“I like tuna,” he said carefully. “So, worse comes to worse, I’ll take it home, all right?”

The look of gratitude Steve gave him made Michael want to sweep him into a hug and tell him everything was going to be fine. Only, he didn’t actually know if it _would_. According to Bucky, they still didn’t even know what was wrong with Steve.

“All right,” Michael said briskly. “One tuna casserole coming right up. There are tastebuds to be explored!

\----

An hour later, Steve poked their meal with his fork and eyed it dubiously. When he looked up at Michael, he smiled widely and took a bite of the gooey, cheesy, tuna-y mix. He chewed and swallowed while Steve eyed him, then motioned for Steve to do the same. Later, he wished he had been recording the next few moments. Steve took a bite, scrunched up his entire face, and kept chewing.

“Gross?” Michael asked, unable to keep the amusement off his face, or out of his voice.

Captain America flipped him off, gagged, and downed his entire glass of Pepsi before shoving his plate across the table. When he emerged from behind his drink, his lips were still pursed as if he’d bitten into a lemon. It was almost as adorable as Tasha realizing how incredible mint cheesecake was and stealing his.

Happily, Michael slid Steve’s plate across the table.

“And now we know,” he declared.

Blushing, Steve glanced away and back again.

“Thanks,” he murmured, “for not saying you should have listened, or something.”

“What’re friends for?” Michael quipped. “If I can’t steal your meal, who will?” Well, Bucky, probably. The Omega always perked up at any mention of food, but Michael wasn’t sure mentioning Bucky right now was a good idea.

Steve laughed, leaning back in his chair and rinsing his mouth out with soda again. For a moment, he looked like the old Steve as he watched Michael seriously without saying a word. Michael just watched him back, happily chowing down on the food Steve wasn’t going to eat. He had time to wonder if Bucky or Tasha liked tuna before Steve decided to speak again.

“We’re really friends?”

“You doubt that?” Michael asked, not sure if he should feel insulted, or even more pity for Steve and the amount of people trying to manipulate him.

“You don’t smell like me. The others, they all smell like me.”

“Oh,” Michael swallowed down his bite of food and shrugged, “We’re Alphas and you’re a bit territorial over Bucky. I imagine you felt accepting me into the pack was too close to permission to touch Bucky. Not that we ever talked about it or anything,” Michael hurried to explain as Steve developed storm cloud eyebrows. “That was just my assumption, but I’m here, aren’t I?”

“We should fix that,” Steve said simply. “If you’re my friend, you should smell like me.”

Michael was glad he hadn’t taken another bite at the declaration. Becoming part of Steve’s pack had never crossed his mind, but the Alpha was completely serious. Refusing didn’t seem like a good idea, either. Not when Steve was so suspicious, so on edge. Someone needed to be there for him, even if that someone wasn’t someone he’d want if he were himself. Well, at least getting scent marked by Steve wasn’t permanent. If Steve regained his memories and no longer wanted Michael in his pack, they could just let the scent fade.

“Okay.”

When Steve stood, Michael managed to think, ‘Wait, now?’ before the other stronger, _larger_ Alpha was next to him. What happened next, he blamed completely on his instincts. One second he was watching Steve’s hand come towards his throat, and the next he was surging to his feet and lashing out, _certain_ that Steve was a threat. That Steve was going to finally put his rival Alpha down. It was just too fast. He didn’t have enough time to prepare himself to be so vulnerable before an Alpha like Steve.

Though Steve’s eyes widened, he simply caught Michael’s fist, twisted him about, and gently knocked his legs from beneath him. Gasping, Michael fell. Except he didn’t. Steve controlled his path to the ground, setting him down carefully, but still pinning his arm behind his back. The other Alpha’s strong legs bracketed Michael’s as he hovered over his back, not sitting on him, but holding him down, keeping him from fighting back or freaking out any more. It was terrifying, and at once incredibly arousing. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Michael panted.

“Are you all right?” Steve asked, his voice laced with concern. “If I let you up, are you going to attack me again?”

“N-no, I just… panicked. I’m sorry, I -”

“The _hell_ , Steve?!”

Bucky’s voice rang through the apartment, too loud and too sharp. A moment later, Steve wasn’t holding Michael down because Bucky had slammed into him, bullying him off, heavy combat boots thumping by Michael’s line of vision. 

“The hell is the matter with you!?” Tasha’s voice added to the confusion. 

Then she was there, helping Michael up, checking him over worriedly. “I’m okay,” he tried to tell her, but was fairly certain his voice was drowned out by Steve and Bucky as they began shouting at each other.

“I didn’t do anything!” Steve insisted.

“Then why the fuck were you on top of him?!” Bucky shouted, immediately angry. 

“He swung at me and I-”

“Michael swung at you?” Tasha snapped. “You expect us to believe that after you’ve come after him how many times?”

Michael was sitting up by that point and he saw the moment Steve stopped caring and stopped trying to be who everyone else wanted. His eyes flashed, jaw clenched, and that must have been enough like the old Steve that Bucky faltered. The momentary lack of aggression was all Steve needed. Instead of shouting, though, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room.

“The hell do you think you’re going?” Bucky snarled, recovering and chasing after him, default confrontation setting in full force. 

“Don’t,” Michael try to warn him, but it was too late. Bucky caught Steve’s upper arm, trying to force him to stay. Instead of letting himself be grabbed, Steve turned into Bucky’s reach and slammed his palm into the Omega’s chest hard enough he skidded backwards across the floor. Bucky froze, stunned, as Steve growled low, angry, and full of challenge.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Steve shouted. “Don’t come near me, don’t fucking talk to me. I know you miss your precious Alpha, but I really don’t give a fuck anymore. It is past fucking time you realize _he_ might never be coming back, and you have to deal with _me_. That starts with you not treating me like a fucking child.” He glared at Tasha and she flinched. “I’m not a fucking liar,” the angry stare turned on Bucky, “and I know you don't even like me, but you don't get to put your hands on me.” He turned to the hallway in the ensuing silence, and then whipped right back around. “Not that it's any if your fucking business, but I'm going to my room to get away from _you_. It’s the only fucking place in this damned tower that doesn’t smell like you.”

Bucky growled, “You don’t get to just walk away.” Reaching back for Steve once more, and unlike all the other times Michael saw Bucky growl at Steve, the Alpha didn’t give in. He slapped his reaching hand away.

“The hell I don’t,” Steve spat back. “Not when all you want is someone to scream at.”

The obvious clues of Steve’s body, the way he kept his shoulders up and his head lowered, looking like a bull ready to charge were obvious to Michael. Bucky was ignoring it completely. The Omega was edging into Steve’s space, ready to fight. He was far more angry and aggressive than Michael was used to seeing, feeling vulnerable, and lashing out. Without his memory, already angry, confused, and hurt, Steve wouldn’t know how to handle him.

“The fuck is the matter with you?” Steve snapped, backing away from Bucky. Ready to put up a fight, but not ready to initiate it. “Stay the hell away from me!”

“You know what Steve? I fucking can’t! So fucking stay here and -” 

Bucky was shouting, but Steve wasn’t about to let him finish his sentence.

“The hell you can’t! You banished me up here, alone, where nothing smells like you, and you only show up when _you_ want. Now _I_ want, and I want you to get the fuck out!”

“And what? You don’t have a goddamn pair of legs or hands? What are you, a porcelain figurine that can’t move from the place where you were put? You could have come down anytime!”

Bucky came closer to Seve again, and Steve pushed Bucky again, hitting his chest hard enough that Bucky let out a surprised bark when the air rushed out of his chest. It made him growl again, not the displeased kind of growl Michael had heard before, but something that sounded like an Alpha’s challenge, low and nasty. This was turning bad quickly

“I did!” Steve shouted back. “I tried! But I’m not him and you don’t goddamn want _me_!”

“You fucking wanted _sex_!” 

Hell, Bucky sounded so nasty. There was bitter, old anger in his voice. The same anger that drove him to seek fights in Alpha bars, like the one Michael had met him in. Only then he wasn’t this angry.

“I wanted _you_!” Steve shot back, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Ha,” Bucky sneered. “After using your Alpha voice on me, you thought I would fucking spread my legs for you?” 

Bucky’s arm made a distinctive whine, and Michael swallowed. This had to stop. Stop _now_.

“Tasha, stop them,” Michael turned to the redheaded Omega, having sense enough not to get in between the two super-soldiers. “They’re going to come to blows any second now.” 

Natasha’s pale green eyes flickered to him, his voice seeming to break her from her stupor. Mouth closing, she nodded, and gathered herself to her feet. Michael expected something fancy to happen, maybe some kind of super-soldier move on her part. He did not expect her to go to the sink where the pot from cooking pasta was soaking in soapy water, pull the pot out, take two fast steps towards the pair, and heave that water over them both. It would have been funny, if it wasn’t so terrifying to see the two big men spring apart like scalded cats, wiping water from their eyes and staring at Natasha in shock.

“Enough,” she said coldly. “Barnes, leave now. Go to your place; we need to talk.” 

Her voice brooked no argument. It was calm, cool and gave absolutely no leeway.

“Steve, go change. Michael will stay here to make sure you’re okay.” 

Walking through the water pooled on the floor, she caught the edge of Bucky’s shirt and started towing him towards the door. Michael noticed how she managed to avoid touching Bucky while at the same time physically manhandling him. It only served to remind him how awesome she was.

“Don’t treat me like a kid,” Bucky growled at her, but it was nowhere near as threatening, or as serious as it had been directed at Steve.

“I will if you insist on acting as one,” Natasha said as cold as ever. 

Michael watched them go, the elevators sliding shut as Bucky glared sullenly into the room. When Michael turned around, Steve was already in his room. His door open, though, in invitation instead of shutting Michael out. Or, he thought, maybe just giving up on fighting back. 

Swallowing hard, Michael followed.

In his bedroom, Steve was angrily jerking open the drawers of his dresser. He was bare-chested, his physique as stunning as Michael remembered it, all golden skin and streamlined muscle. The wet shirt was lying on the floor by his feet and, as Michael watched, he saw Steve roughly pull on another. 

“You okay?” Michael asked quietly.

“Okay?” Steve laughed. “No, I am not fucking okay. What the hell does it matter, anyway?” He made a sharp gesture with his arm. “You saw how he acted. He hates my guts!” The drawer slammed shut. “All he wants is me to be ‘back to normal’. Well, I can’t fucking help with that. If I could...”

Steve leaned both hands against the dresser top, bowing his head as his eyes closed tightly.

“You know, you haven’t been bonded that long,” Michael said carefully. “I doubt Bucky knows you well enough to be too attached to the ‘old’ version of you.”

This time, Steve’s laugh was more hysterical.

“So he just hates me in general. Why in the hell are we even bonded?”

Michael rubbed the back of his hand over his lips, not sure what he should say, and what he shouldn’t. 

“I guess you haven’t figured out that Bucky is kind of an asshole.” Steve looked up at him, tired and worn, but listening. “I adore the guy, but he’s no angel. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It takes two to argue.”

Blue eyes flashed angrily.

“I didn’t do a goddamn thing.”

“He’s also a victim of torture and severe abuse,” Michael said quickly, heading that conversation off as fast as he could. The surprise in Steve’s eyes, the way his brows furrowed, made Michael want to kick someone. Why hadn’t they _told_ him? “I don’t know the full story behind you two, probably because I’m a civilian, not a superhero. All I know is, you got together awfully fast, bonded after just a few weeks of knowing each other, but you looked happy together. It wasn’t an idyllic relationship though. Not some kind of picture-perfect thing, so don’t feel as if you are the one that’s in the wrong, or failing everybody.”

“When I saw him,” Steve whispered, “I knew he was for me. I _knew_ it, like I knew nothing else. I smelled him and he _smelled_ like me. It was… It was a lighthouse in a storm, so I try. To… do anything that he wants and it just… He hates me.”

“He mentioned something about Alpha voice?” Michael cautiously asked. It would explain a lot about Bucky’s hot-and-cold attitude.

Steve shoved his hand through his hair and nodded, grimacing.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, but I thought they were going to leave and I couldn’t… He was mine, you know? I just told them to stay. I didn’t know.” Steve closed his eyes. “If I could take it back, I would.”

Michael crept closer, but not close enough to touch Steve. He didn't want to provoke the larger Alpha, or make him feel hemmed in.

“It’s okay, Steve. You were confused and threatened. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“No,” Steve said sharply, “I did. I know I did, but I can’t _change_ it. I did it and it doesn't matter if I don’t do it again, or if I didn’t know. It was me, and it was him, and he hates me.”

Michael exhaled slowly, debating how much of what he knew was general knowledge.

“I don’t think it’s a secret,” he started cautiously, “but Bucky was bonded against his will, before you. That’s why he reacted so strongly to the voice thing. The fact is, he’s still in the Tower, Steve. Still here, in the same building as you. That means he doesn’t hate you.”

Another laugh, this one as sarcastic-sounding as the first. Michael was glad he’d heard actual amusement in him before, and had it to compare to because it was a wretched sound. Worse, he thought, than if Steve was crying.

“He’s here because he’s waiting for his precious bondmate to come back. That’s all I am to him. Who I _was_.”

“Steve, that man, for all his aggressive posturing, is an absolute coward when it comes to feelings. He runs away from them as fast as his legs can carry him. He has actually run away from you before. And as far as I know you two communicate best through fighting.”

Pushing himself off the dresser, Steve turned to face Michael fully.

“So what am I supposed to do then?” he demanded. “Take it? He doesn’t listen, so there’s no point in fighting. Just wait to go back to ‘normal’ like everyone wants? That’s working so _well_ for me now.”

“I’m the last person to tell you what to do,” Michael said, “I mostly deal with Bucky by cooking for him and emotionally blackmailing him into doing things.” Steve snorted and rolled his eyes, but Michael thought he was genuinely amused this time. “I just don’t want what you two have to be tattered, and I think what I told you should have been said days ago.”

Sighing, Steve went to the bed and sat down. He put his head in his hands, then looked up to the ceiling as if it would give him answers. Considering Michael liked to think JARVIS lived in the ceiling, maybe it would.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“What?” Michael blinked, confused by the segue. “That was the most gentle and emasculating takedown I have had the misfortune to suffer. Ever,” he admitted bitterly. “So, thank you. Not only do I get called a ‘shrimp’ by Bucky, I have now the pleasure of knowing you can subdue me like a mama cat does her kittens. Carefully, lovingly, and with absolutely no effort on your part.”

Steve laughed, making Michael smile as well.

“I could teach you? If you want.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know much, but I remember how to handle myself.”

“You know? I would actually love that,” Michael admitted. “Provided nobody ever saw the teaching process occur.”

“And we keep the doors locked so no one thinks I’m trying to kill you,” Steve said dryly.

Shrugging, Michael said, “Eh, you didn’t kill me when you learned how I met Bucky, I’m not afraid.”

Steve patted the edge of the bed, silently inviting Michael to join him.

“You’re not the one I’m afraid of, either,” Steve said.

“Who are you afraid of?” Michael sat down on the bed, feeling the large presence of Steve beside him. For such a huge guy, Steve didn’t take up a lot of space.

“Seriously?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow. “Both Nat and Bucky. They’re terrifying.”

“Bucky is a simple creature, if somewhat violent, and Tasha…”

Steve smiled at him.

“You really like her.”

The smile on Michael’s face was probably dopey, but the truth was, “Yeah, I do.” He nudged Steve’s shoulder. “You know, I don’t know you as well as the others, definitely not as long, but you know what? I kind of like you more now than I did the version before.”

Both Steve’s eyebrows climbed into his hair.

“Yeah?”

Michael nodded.

“You were much more guarded, rarely showed the real you. I only learned you weren’t that prickly hardass by catching glimpses of you with Bucky; he was the only one you bothered to lower your defences for.” Michael thought of the pose the two of them had adopted for him. The way Steve let himself be vulnerable for Bucky and how that had finally changed Michael’s mind about him. He had looked young and lost, vulnerable, and it had made him human in Michael’s eyes for the first time. “This? You actually talking to me and letting yourself be angry and frustrated? I think I prefer this version of you better. I have no idea what’s wrong with Bucky, but I bet he’ll like this version too.”

Steve slowly smiled at him, wide and brilliant.

“Maybe old me has more than just Pinterest to learn from me.” He shrugged and the smile vanished. “But we’ll see about Bucky. I’m not going to hold my breath.”

“But you’ll stay?” Michael asked, unable to keep the worry from his question.

Rolling his eyes, Steve nodded.

“I’ll stay. Might even get used to this damn apartment. I hate it.”

“Why? Michael asked, surprised. “It smells like you?” and then what he had said caught up with him. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said despondently. “It smells like _me_.”

Michael felt like an idiot. One of the first things Steve had said was how his room was the only place in the tower that _didn’t_ smell like Bucky. An Alpha needed the scent of their mate, needed it to feel at home. This place, as much as it was Steve’s, couldn’t ever be home.

Michael tilted his head towards the ceiling. 

“JARVIS?” he called out. “You here?”

“Of course,” JARVIS answered immediately. “How can I be of assistance?”

“How long have you been here? In this room, I mean.”

“Ever since this room was built,” JARVIS answered.

“What kind of monitoring do you have here?”

“Infrared, microphones for voice cues, sensors in windows to make sure the surface tension of the glass is unbroken, motion sensors and cameras in the hallways leading to the door.”

“And my room?”

“The same,” JARVIS answered. “Sir has more cameras on his floor and on the public floors.”

Michael exhaled.

“Steve, you know Bucky has no monitoring in his room at all? Right, JARVIS?”

“That is correct. Sergeant Barnes insisted upon it. Even the speakers have been removed. The only sensors I have been allowed to use are the surface tension sensors for building wide security.”

“Is that,” Steve halted, looking confused, “Is that why he’s never been in here? He comes into the main room all the time…”

“You should ask him about his past,” Michael said gently, “It’s not my place to tell you more than I already have, but he’s paranoid to the extreme, and hates any kind of surveillance with a passion. The fact he even comes up here at all? That’s because he wants to see you. He definitely wouldn’t come here otherwise. Right, JARVIS?”

“Sergeant Barnes has only spoken to me a handful of times since he moved into the Tower, usually in some kind of emergency. Other than that, he prefers to avoid my security measures.”

“He could have asked,” Steve said quietly, staring up at the ceiling. “I would have… Why…?” Steve sighed and shoved his hand through his hair. “I didn't know. JARVIS, could you,” he waved his hand in a circle, “turn it all off?”

“I can,” JARVIS agreed.

“Can I still talk to you, though? You’ve been… very helpful.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Right,” Michael climbed to his feet with a purpose. “You sit there. I’ll be right back so this place smells a bit more like home.”

“Uh,” Steve stared at him, “Okay?”

Walking backwards to the door, Michael grinned at Steve.

“See, old you would have wanted all the details. New you is so much better.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and shooed him on. Not needing more permission, Michael headed for the elevator. After instructing JARVIS to take him to Bucky’s room, he walked down the hall and straight through the door. 

“Don’t mind me,” he called to Tasha and Bucky who froze on the couch in the living room, “Just gonna steal a pillow or two.”

“Who’s with Steve?” Tasha demanded, half rising to her feet.

“Steve is with Steve,” Michael sing-songed back. “Keep your pants on. I’ll be heading right back up.”

Michael looked at Bucky - sitting tense and defensive and as far from Natasha as he could get - at Tasha’s frustrated expression, and decided to make it double fast. He slipped as silently as he could towards the bedroom, pushing the door open despite Bucky’s startled, “Hey!” and made a beeline for the bed. The first picture he had made of Bucky was hanging over the bed and Michael smiled, happy to see it in such an exposed position. The smile faltered, however, when he realized how different the scent in this room was from Steve’s floor. It was so much more fitting. He hadn’t even realised something was wrong until Steve pointed it out, but he was such an idiot for missing it. 

Snagging a pillow that looked well used, assuming it had to be Bucky’s since Steve wasn’t sleeping here at the moment, Michael made his way back towards the door. A quiet _mew_ made him freeze and he looked down to find a tiny white face looking up at him as the kitten crawled from beneath the bed.

“Hey there, little one,” Michael cooed. “You miss your daddy? Come on,” he bent, deciding then and there to take the kitten, too, “let’s go see him.”

When he turned back to the door, Bucky was blocking his path.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bucky snapped.

Michael squared his shoulders, looking Bucky in the eye fearlessly.

“Steve needs your scent, and he needs to not be alone,” Bucky tightened his jaw, but he also lowered his eyes a fraction. “I’m bringing him both and you, Bucky, need to stop hoarding everything. The man is hurting; this is the least you can offer.”

Bucky turned his face away. It wasn’t quite a flinch, but it was close enough to one that Michael knew he had hit a nerve. It was a good thing Bucky liked him, because he wasn’t about to lose that advantage.

“Let me by,” Michael said quietly. “I’ll make sure he’s got everything he needs to keep the kitten healthy.”

Bucky looked away again, tense, but mostly… strange. There something _very_ strange about the Omega right now, but Michael didn’t have the time to wonder about it because Bucky stepped back, letting him pass. Before Bucky could change his mind, he left with his arms full and headed back to the elevator.

Halfway down the hall, he paused and looked back.

“Bucky?” When the Omega looked at him, Michael said, “He turned off the surveillance in his room. I didn’t tell him why it bothers you, but he wants you there.” There was too much tension in Bucky for Michael to read him as easily as he usually did, but Michael wanted to believe he saw surprise in Bucky’s eyes. Licking his lips, he forged ahead. “I came here, because he needs your scent with him, Buck. Alpha’s need their bonded’s scent to feel at home, and he hasn’t had that. I don’t know what happened to make you distrust him, but this distance between you two is not helping him, not when he needs you.” 

Bucky clenched his teeth again, the muscle in his jaw jumping and looked away. Michael was reading the strangest mix of signals from him, but he didn’t have time to spend on Bucky right then. Steve really _shouldn’t_ be alone and he was waiting for Michael to return. He turned away, glanced at Natasha and offered her a tight smile before leaving. The elevator was already waiting for him and JARVIS brought him to Steve’s floor without him even having to ask. The A.I. really was incredible.

\----

Natasha crossed her arms, looking at Bucky again as the door shut and he walked slowly down the hall. It was more than obvious that Michael’s words had struck a chord with Bucky, not least of all because he’d let the Alpha leave. He was still tense and angry, but the aggression had slid from him. If she was lucky, Michael would have knocked down Bucky’s walls.

“You want to tell me why you don’t trust Steve?” Natasha asked.

“I trust Steve,” Bucky responded immediately, a knee-jerk answer without a shred of thought behind it.

“Like _hell_ you do,” Natasha challenged, watching Bucky for any minute clue as to what was going on with him. “Suddenly, in the space of a few days, you stopped letting Steve anywhere near you.” Bucky walked a half circle of the room, the muscles in his back and neck tense, standing out sharply against the thin shirt he was wearing. “Bucky,” she tried gentling her tone, “please. Steve isn’t here to help you. Let me do it for him. It’s all,” she opened her hand and closed it. “It’s all I have to offer him.”

Bucky tangled his fingers in his hair, pulling sharply, angry and frustrated. There was an odd taste to his anger, one she couldn’t quite place.

“I just,” Bucky started speaking, but stopped again with a frustrated huff.

“Just what?” Natasha prodded, determined to keep at it until she got to the root of the problem. “Is it about the Alpha voice incident?”

Bucky exhaled, loud and long, and turned to face her.

“It was the second time he’s used his voice on me,” Bucky said tightly. 

“Bucky, he didn’t know what he was doing,” Natasha said quietly. “He was confused and threatened -”

“He keeps promising he won't use it, but he ends up doing it anyway!” 

Bucky growled before he again cut himself off. Natasha sensed that Bucky was hiding something, the real reason he was so damned upset. Maybe the voice had affected him, but this was something else.

“Bucky,” Natasha asked, “is this really about the voice? He never used it to hurt you,” she said, trying to mitigate that it had been used at all. In a way, it was hard for her to understand how he felt because Steve had never used his voice on her, never put her in a position where she was physically incapable of refusing an order. “Because if it’s not, if you feel unsafe for some other reason, I can find you a place. A safe house, away from here. He’ll never find you, I promise, and if he comes back to normal, we can contact you.”

Bucky tossed his head in a sharp gesture she had trouble placing. It occurred to her that the tension she was reading in Bucky wasn’t anger exactly, it was something else.

“No,” he said gruffly, sitting down hard on the armchair nearest to him, resting his elbows on the armrests, but folding his hands together in front of him, closing up his body language. It was the most defensive position she had seen him in. “Why would you offer, anyways?”

“I told you. Steve can’t be here for you right now and he’d want whatever is best for you. If leaving is what’s best, we’ll find a safe house. If it’s something else, anything, I… You’re what’s most important to Steve, so, until he’s back, you’re gonna be what’s most important to me.”

Bucky met her eyes, for first time since they’d walked into the room. Judging her, assessing how honest she was being. Natasha kept still and waited for him to come to a decision. It had been years since she was in his skin, since trusting another human being seemed like an insurmountable challenge; a laughable idea, really. She had time, and Clint, to learn to trust, to be a human again. He had only had what? A few months? As much as she trusted Nick, it touched something wary and bitter in her the way Bucky had been treated after the kind of abuse he had suffered. He was a threat, but he could have been dealt with differently, humanely. Not locked up in a plastic cage for years without suppressants to control his heats, without even other inmates to provide any kind of human contact.

“You used to be happy with Steve,” she said quietly. “It was easy to see how well you two fit together, how you genuinely liked being with him. To see you this… tense, this distrustful, of him? I would have offered you a way out even if I didn’t love Steve as much as I do.”

Bucky licked his lips.

“He’s angry,” Bucky said haltingly, not looking at her, but somewhere over her shoulder. “Violent. Reacts with physical aggression when he wouldn’t have before.”

Natasha sucked in a breath. Of everything she had expected, that Bucky was _afraid_ of Steve wasn’t on the list. He was different, but he was still Steve. Bucky was a strongly physical person, often expressing himself through body language alone, and not shy about being seen as threatening.

“You don’t have to be around him,” she assured. “Not if you don’t want to be. Or not alone, but, Bucky, you can make that Alpha do anything you want. Haven’t you seen?”

Bucky huffed.

“I _can't_ ,” he insisted. “I _can’t_ risk a fight with him.” 

There was a heavy, serious, inflection on the denial that Natasha didn’t understand. She did know it was important. Why couldn’t Bucky risk fighting with Steve? Because he was afraid he’d see him differently in the future? Because he was afraid of hurting Steve? But that made no sense, Bucky had never once shied away from challenging Steve, even outright provoking him. Now he said he couldn’t risk any kind of confrontation? After quite literally picking a fight? It made no sense.

“You two are fairly evenly matched,” Natasha suggested tentatively. “He outstrips you in pure strength and stamina, but you outstrip him in actual combat experience, and you are much more brutal and efficient in a fight.” She frowned and shook her head. “But he doesn’t want to fight you. When he could, he backed away. When he couldn’t, he pushed you away.” 

Bucky licked his lips.

“He hit me when I caught his arm,” Bucky started speaking slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully. “Did you notice the moment he changed his balance?”

Natasha nodded, remembering that small shift. 

“Yeah.”

“If he had chosen anything other than pushing…” 

Bucky trailed off, his eyes sliding away from Natasha’s.

“But he didn’t. Bucky, he just wanted you away. Not to hurt you.”

“I couldn’t help but think what if he had chosen a different move?” Bucky repeated, and Natasha knew he was trying to tell her what she was missing. “I…” Bucky licked his lips nervously, then abruptly began yelling. “I was already dialing back the feedback on my arm, Nat! If he’d tried to hurt me? What would I have done to him?!”

Nasha felt her mouth drop open, then quickly closed it.

“He only tried to push you away,” she reminded him.

“ _I_ wouldn't have stopped at pushing!” He got up and began pacing. “The way I was trained? The way I fight? I wouldn’t have stopped at just pushing him away,” he repeated, turning sharply at the end of the room and making his way back.

Natasha thought he was full of shit, but she also knew she wouldn’t convince him of that. Not when he was this worked up and genuinely afraid of hurting Steve. It was, actually, the first time she’d felt pure fondness for Bucky.

“Barnes,” Natasha said firmly, “that’s not anything new. You’ve always been like that. You haven’t hurt him.”

Mirthlessly, Bucky laughed.

“It’s different now. I look at him, at his enhancements, and I calculate. I calculate how much damage he can do to me during a fight, the power of his punches and,” Bucky was back at the armchair, but this time he just perched on the edge of it, “I can’t risk it right now. Can't risk taking any damage, Nat, not from somebody as capable as him, and definitely not from _him_.”

Natasha began to reassure Bucky again that Steve would never be a threat to him, when the strangeness of his words finally caught up to her.

“Now,” she repeated, turning his words in her mind. “You can’t take any damage _now_. Why not now?”

Again, Bucky licked his lips, turning his head away, but he kept his body angled towards her. Unsure if he wanted to tell her or not, and that was already more invitation than she had ever had from him before. Not that she had any idea why now was so much more risky than a month ago.

“Is there something wrong with you? A side effects from Tony’s cure?” Natasha asked.

Bucky looked back at her, lips twisted in a grimace she had never seen before. 

“There’s definitely something,” he muttered, before speaking louder. “I’m pregnant,”

“Oh my god,” Natasha blurted, knowing her eyes were wide with shock and not bothering to hide it. “How?” she asked stupidly and Bucky immediately glared at her.

“Tab A went into slot B,” he said sarcastically. “More than once.”

Natasha huffed, rolling her eyes at her own stupid question and his even dumber response.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,”

Bucky shrugged.

“No idea. Didn’t happen for seventy years, and a few weeks with him and… well...”

“Does he, I mean, _did_ he know?”

Bucky licked his lips, biting the lower lip too this time.

“He did.”

“Oh.” 

Natasha thought back on the rough way they kept relating to each other recently, the way they kept snapping for no reason, and oh, when Steve remembered he was going to feel so horribly guilty.

“Yeah,” Bucky exhaled and leaned back against the armchair. 

“Have you considered telling him again?” Natasha asked gently. “If he doesn’t get his memory back… you’ll have to, eventually.”

“You think there’s a chance he won't get his memory back?” Bucky sounded wounded, as if Natasha had stabbed him.

“It’s only been a few days,” she assured, “but they said that he might never. You were there, Bucky. There’s a good chance he will, but he might not. What will be better for you? Telling him, or leaving him in the dark until it’s too late?” Hurriedly she added, “I’m really asking. What’s better _for you_? And if he knows, maybe he won’t be so aggressive with you.”

Bucky ran his hand through his hair again, looking up into the ceiling.

“It was… really hard telling him the first time,” Bucky admitted.

“I’ll tell him if you don’t want to,” Natasha offered.

When Bucky shook his head, she had to smile. It would be best if it came from Bucky, if it came from anyone at all. Steve wasn’t their Steve, but for something like this it didn’t matter.

“No.” Bucky sounded grim. “One of the reasons I didn’t really want to tell him in the first place is that,” he stopped and started over, “Since it hadn’t happened before, and there were plenty of opportunities, it might not be… a permanent thing.”

“Bucky, that’s _more_ reason to tell him,” Natasha said instantly. “You should not do this alone. You don’t have to.”

Meeting her gaze, Bucky was no longer as tense, but unnaturally relaxed. His eyes were dark and old, reminding her that even though he and Steve looked to be similar in age, they weren’t. Bucky had lived all of his ninety years.

“Right now, Steve doesn't have all that much of an emotional connection to me,” Bucky said tiredly. “Dumping this on him when he already has doubts about us and his relationship with me, wouldn't help except to make him think he owes me something.”

Natasha huffed at him and let him see her roll her eyes.

“Bucky, you’re _compatible_. He’s an Alpha who submits to you, knowing you or not. Why do you think he’s so upset about the way his room smells? Why did Michael come in here _specifically_ for your scent? Your avoiding him isn’t making him want you any less.”

“You think it’s easy for me?” he growled. “I let him in against all of my instincts. You think I can just do it over and over again? Those instincts are what kept me alive for a very long time. You think I can just shut them down whenever?”

“God, Bucky,” Natasha said passionately. “I think it’s harder for you. Hardest _on_ you, but you look me in the eye and you tell me losing him is worth it. That he hasn’t been worth it. Because I think you’re alive right now because of more than your instincts. I think it’s because you’re not afraid to tell your fear to fuck off. Will it be hard? Yes, but if it all goes pear-shaped, you’re still not alone.” Natasha walked to him and knelt by his chair. “I promise, I’ll be here however I can.”

“I’m,” Bucky started speaking, but stopped again. “I’m very tired sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “I lived too long already, through too much. It was one of the reasons I was so angry at him, at you all for pulling me out of that base. It… It wasn’t supposed to be like this anymore.” He waved his hand towards the apartment, empty of Steve and one kitten. “The fucking kittens keep looking for him.”

“Bucky,” Natasha said softly, “he’s here. Not the same, but… He turned off his security system, after you two nearly took each others heads off. For you.”

“At most, he asked JARVIS to turn it off,” he grumbled.

Natasha smiled, because him complaining was so much better than him scaring the hell out of her by admitting to being tired. He was indomitable, this almost animalistic presence in their lives and to hear him suddenly admit something like that was disturbing. 

“Bucky,” Natasha reached out and squeezing his hand, “that man is stupid for you, whether he understands it or not, knows you or not. And if our Steve was here, you know he’d tell you to give him a chance, that he loves you, and that you shouldn’t be alone. I believe that’s why I get having Michael on the floor above me now.”

Bucky snorted out a laugh suddenly. 

“Do you know Michael and I talked Steve into posing naked?”

“Naked,” Natasha repeated, her mind spinning out to the consequences of the public finding out.

“Very naked,” Bucky said with a smile.

Natasha rolled her eyes and squeezed his hand.

“Let me make you a sandwich, okay? Then you can decide what you want to do.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Bucky answered, but didn’t pull away from her touch.

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“Not hungry? It must be the end of the world. Guess I’m going to have to go find Michael and tell him we’re having sex after all.”

Bucky side-eyed her.

“You better be careful of him,” he warned. “He’s not like us.”

“Aw, look,” Natasha teased, “when Steve’s not here to be Captain Obvious you take up his mantle. He’ll be so pleased.”

“Speaking of,” Bucky said suddenly, “did you think Steve was flirting with Michael?”

Natasha raised her hands to the ceiling, mutely asking heavens for help.

“Barnes, so help me god…”

“What else could he have been doing?” Bucky insisted. “I mean, he said he didn’t do anything _wrong_ , but he was definitely on top of the guy, and Michael has a thing for other Alphas.”

Staring at him flatly, she tried to not react, but knew she gave it away when she blurted, “Maybe we shouldn’t leave them alone.”

“Probably not,” Bucky agreed, getting to his feet. “Get Michael away from that room for a while.”

“And?” Natasha prodded pointedly.

“I’ll go talk to Steve,” Bucky admitted.

“Will you tell him-” Natasha started, but a look from Bucky stopped her. “Okay,” she raised her hands defensively, “Not saying anything else. Whatever you think is best. Now, let’s go get our guys.”


	11. Chapter 11

It took Bucky a while to find Red Beast, the name they’d compromised on for the orange floof Steve had brought home. She wasn’t in her usual place under the bed, in the closet, eating, or using her box. Eventually, he’d found her curled up in the laundry, Steve’s laundry, that Bucky hadn’t been able to wash yet, missing Steve like everyone else. And her companion, Bucky guessed. 

With a sigh, he leant down to fish the sleepy kitten out of the laundry basket. It made a soft sound of complaint as he put her in the crook of his arm and went to the kitchen to retrieve the bag of cat food Steve had bought for the little creatures. He could bring the litterbox later. The beasts would be more interested in food anyway. 

As he left his apartment behind, Bucky tried not to notice how quiet it was without either Steve or the cats. Still, it was better if the little beasts stayed together. At least they wouldn’t get lonely, and they did like Steve better anyway.

It took only a few moments to reach Steve’s floor and his door.

“JARVIS,” he called, his hands full of cat and cat food. Before he had the time to ask for anything else, the door swung open. “Thanks.”

Pushing the door wider with his shoulder, Bucky set the food down. Steve wasn’t anywhere in sight. Neither was Sergeant Tibbs. A moment later, his Alpha’s voice drifted to him from the hallway leading to the bedroom.

“I guess I can see why I like you,” Steve was saying to himself. “You’re small. Warm. Soft. The soft part is nice.”

As Bucky got closer, he could hear Sergeant Tibbs purring.

“Mm, and you seem to like me, but see - Tibbs, right? - I don’t remember liking cats. So, it would be really nice if you’d tell me why you’re mine. No?” Steve sighed. “That whole language barrier is going to be a problem. How are we supposed to communicate?”

Bucky could feel the corner of his lips pull up. Steve was being ridiculous talking to the cat like that, but it wasn’t anything new either. He had always talked to the kittens as if they were were fully grown humans, understanding each and every word. 

Another sigh, longer this time.

“At least you fucking listen to me,” Steve muttered. “That’s a nice change of pace.”

“She likes you,” Bucky said out loud, letting Steve know he was there.

There was a whine - Tibbs was unreasonably grumpy when moved - and Steve appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. The kitten was clutched to his chest with one hand, a lit cigarette dangling from the other. What struck Bucky, though, was the surprise in his eyes. Surprise, that rapidly shifted to caution.

“Bucky.”

Bucky showed him Red Beast, cradled in his metal hand. The kitten was gnawing at his fingers with relish, the tiny claws hooked under the grooves between his armor plates. It looked fierce and quite focused on its task. Bucky approved.

“They shouldn’t be separated,” Bucky said, bending down to let the kitten off his hand and onto the floor, where it started to investigate the new surroundings immediately. Everything smelled like Steve, so it was probably why both kittens were so relaxed, completely unafraid of the place.

“Oh,” Steve mumbled, disappointment clear on his features before he set Tibbs down. The white fluff had noticed its companion and had started squirming in Steve’s hold to join Red.

Bucky indicated the red kitten. 

“I brought their food, too.”

“Thanks,” Steve said weakly. “I’ll, um, take good care of them.”

Bucky stood there, not knowing what to say as they both watched Tibbs pounce on Red, then wrestle her to the ground. They kicked and rolled, happily playing with each other in this strange new place.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Bucky heard himself say.

Steve shrugged.

“I didn’t know either. There was a carton in the - Wait, what? You didn’t know I smoked?”

Bucky met Steve’s gaze.

“You never smoked where I could see you and I never smelled smoke on you, so no, I didn’t know.”

For whatever reason, that made Steve scowl. 

“There’s an entire damn carton in there,” he pointed back to the bedroom with the cigarette. 

Bucky rolled his shoulders back, fighting down the shivery, twisty edge of defensiveness that wanted to crawl up his spine.

“I never came here,” he answered, seeing as Steve was getting impatient with his silence.

“Yeah, about that,” Steve glanced down at the oblivious kittens and took a drag from his cigarette before he finally finished with. “What happened? Why do you hate surveillance so much you wouldn’t,” he gestured toward his bedroom again. “Not once. Not even a whiff of you…”

Bucky frowned.

“I figured somebody would have given you my file to read or something. Not like it’s a secret any more, not after you blew the whole thing sky high on national TV.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Steve said, agitated again. “What file?”

“The one S.H.I.E.L.D. has on me. What they thought was my whole history. If you ask for it, they’ll give it to you I’m sure.”

“Well,” Steve shoved a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to read a damn file. I… I’m asking. You. I’m asking you,” he took a breath and managed to calm himself, “what happened?”

Bucky opened his mouth and then closed it. Usually he had no problem with throwing his past at Steve like live grenades, hoping to hurt or shock him most of the time. He used the atrocities committed against him as a weapon, having long ago learned to use anything necessary to gain an upper hand. This Steve didn’t know even half of Bucky’s past, of what had been done to him and what he had to other’s on Hydra’s orders. For the first time, Bucky found he didn’t want to share. He didn’t want to burden this almost innocent version of Steve with the details of what could be done to a human being, how it was possible to strip a man of his humanity and the sense of self. 

“It’s a long and nasty story,” Bucky hedged. 

“I ain’t got anywhere to be,” Steve said, meeting Bucky’s gaze fearlessly. He motioned to the cigarette. “And I do have a whole carton of these things.” 

“You didn’t deal well with the knowledge the first time around,” Bucky warned, hoping Steve would change his mind.

“Fine,” Steve said, turning away, both hands roughly rubbing at his head, “Forget it. I’ll just… I’ll just remember later. It’s fine.”

“You never knew the whole story,” Bucky sighed, not as happy as he expected with Steve giving in. “I made sure to bury as much of it as I could.”

Steve looked at him again, blue eyes shadowed and calculating.

“You don’t _want_ me to know. Either him, or me.”

“No, I don’t,” Bucky admitted. “Frankly, I wish I didn’t remember at all, and I’m not a very caring person.”

“Yes, you are,” Steve abruptly argued, eyebrows drawing together. “No one else cares as much as you do.”

Bucky smiled tightly. 

“Those are your friends, Steve. I’m the newcomer here. They were there for you for years before I showed up and, believe me, I was not a happy camper when we met.”

“Why,” Steve swallowed and gestured with his hands, sweeping them towards the wall. “Why does that matter? You care more than anyone else here. About him, about me being him. So what if you’re new? You’re _all_ new to me, but you…” Steve swallowed again, eyes darting to Bucky’s throat and the mark there. “I don’t know anything, but I got eyes. You were mine, and I thought...”

Bucky watched Steve look away and take a drag from his cigarette, the words echoing in his mind. Did he really care more about Steve being back to his old self than he did about Steve now? He didn’t know this Steve, didn't understand him. It was easier to think of him in familiar terms, through patterns of behavior he recognised and knew. Was it hurting this Steve? It looked like it was and it was Bucky’s fault. He wasn’t foolish enough to try to shift the blame when it lay so squarely on his shoulders.

“We bonded,” Bucky confirmed, “because we wanted to, but that was the old you. If you want to back out of the situation where you are bonded to a stranger you don’t particularly like -”

“If I want?” Steve blurted, loud enough the kittens scrambled away from him and into the living room. “What about _you_?”

“Before you, I was temporarily bonded to people I had no part in choosing. I know how it feels to be at the mercy of a bond you have no control over.”

“I thought this,” Steve waved a hand by his own mark, sprinkling ash over his shoulder, “was permanent.”

Bucky nodded.

“I thought so too, but ever since the… accident, the bond doesn’t feel like it used to. Maybe there’s some clause to it we are unaware of? Maybe both parties have to choose it, and you did not. It’s forced on you, something that was there when you woke up.” Bucky’s voice was bitter. He was viscerally aware of exactly how it felt to wake up confused, alone, and with a bond to a stranger humming at the back of his head. “I know how that feels, so I’m not going to assume you have to act like my bonded.”

Steve stared at him, eyebrows drawn, eyes dark and flicking with emotions. With a single breath, he finished the cigarette, pointed it at Bucky, then turned around and marched back into his room. Now that he thought about it, the situation Steve was in was uncomfortably similar to what he had lived through. For all intents and purposes, this Steve never chose to bond at all. It must have been terrifying, waking up with that bond at the back of his mind.

A moment later, Bucky heard the click of a lighter and he followed Steve, finding him standing by the bed putting the newly lit stick to his lips. 

“You have a very dark view of what being bonded means,” Steve said, taking a deep pull on his cigarette. It was strange, to watch him calm every time he inhaled like that. “But, you know, if I was a stupid man, I’d think you comin’ in here like this, telling me I have an out, is your way of trying to get rid of me.”

Bucky tilted his head.

“I chose the bond,” Bucky corrected mildly. “It won’t break for me,”

“But you didn’t choose it with me,” Steve said, looking back at him. “Thing is, though, last I checked, I was the one who you didn’t like. I don’t know where you got this idea that I don’t like you. I didn’t choose the bond, sure, but,” Steve shook his head, “That last bit I don’t understand. _You_ don’t want me to touch you. _You_ don’t like it when I don’t act like him. _You_ don’t trust me.”

“I’m violent,” Bucky admitted honestly. He saw Steve open his mouth, probably to defend his ability to take care of himself, so Bucky hurried to cut him off. “No, wait. Let me finish. I am extremely violent. Also, by most of the psych evaluations forced on me, I’m way past the sociopath line, and edging close to psychopath. The old you knew that from the very beginning and accounted for it in our interactions. I don’t want you close because I could never trust myself with my reactions, and you don’t deserve to be hurt because I am the way I am.”

“When I woke up,” Steve said, “there was some asshole lying to me and a whole bunch of other assholes who didn’t want to let me leave that room. I didn’t know anything except I couldn’t trust them and then I saw _you_ ,” Steve pointed the cigarette at him. “You were the only clear spot in that whole place.”

“I remember,” Bucky muttered, thinking of the way it felt when his body froze on him at Steve’s command.

Steve flinched and looked away.

“Yeah. I thought…” Steve grimaced. ”What I thought isn’t the point. What I _knew_ was… you were the only one I could trust. You were mine and I was yours and I can’t figure out why that’s changed.”

Bucky exhaled loudly and ran his hand through his hair again.

“I’m going to need that cigarette,” he said shakily.

Wordlessly, Steve complied, fishing out the entire carton. It was more than half full of cigarette packs, and he pulled out one already open and fished out a cigarette. Placing it between his lips, he flicked on the lighter, puffed, and lit it before holding it out to Bucky.

“I’m older than you,” Bucky said, taking a drag of the cigarette, feeling the smoke sting his lungs pleasantly.

Steve snorted. 

“You keep saying shit like it’s s’posed to mean something to me.”

Bucky exhaled, trying to form the smoke into rings. It didn’t work. He moved until his back was against the wall and slid to the floor, stretching out his legs in front of him. He was wearing his combat boots. He instinctively put them on in the morning, even though he preferred going barefoot whenever he could. Strange.

“I’m older by over seventy years, Steve.”

Gesturing impatiently, Steve said, “And?”

Bucky let his lips twitch at how utterly nonplussed this Steve was. Utterly unimpressed by something so unusual after knowing only life in the tower. 

“I spent those years being unmade by an organisation called Hydra, and molded into a perfect weapon for them, with their preferred method of ‘training’ being extreme torture broken up by forced bonds with a line of handlers.”

“Oh,” Steve said quietly. He sat down on the bed, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “This is the part you didn’t want me to know, isn’t it?”

Bucky laughed mirthlessly. 

“That’s nowhere near the worst things there are to know about me,” he sucked on the cigarette, glad to have something to do with his hands, to focus on besides the memories.

“Bucky,” Steve said carefully, “why are you so certain it matters so much? That I’ll be… unhappy with you?”

“Hydra fucked with my biology a lot,” Bucky said, ignoring the question. ”To enhance me - not as much as you, but pretty damn close - but also to induce almost constant heats. There’s so many hormones swimming in my blood I smell like I’m in one anyway. Doesn’t matter much, since I did have them every two, three weeks anyway. It made it so much easier to get me to bond, you know? So much more easy to control when there was a bond pressing on me. It made me… Taught me to react a certain way to Alphas.”

Steve was quiet for a while, his face hidden in the shadows and lit only by the cherry of his cigarette.

“Hatred?” he asked eventually.

Bucky hummed agreeably. 

“I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe what I feel when an Alpha comes near me. And it’s not just dislike, or hatred, or whatever. I can and will hurt them if I get a chance, and I don’t feel bad about it. I did it before, and I will do it again probably. When you come close, smelling and looking like the man I knew, but not him, I get confused and anybody here can tell you I get nasty when I’m confused. You shouldn’t trip my instincts, but somehow you do.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly. “Does that mean you want to kill me?”

Bucky hesitated before answering, taking another long pull. He didn’t want to lie, but wasn’t all that sure of the correct answer. It wasn’t about planning or wanting to hurt Steve, it was about the irrational, illogical reactions Steve was tripping inside him. Bucky was in equal measure protective of Steve as he was angry at him, furious that he had promised to stay with Bucky, to stay with him no matter what, and he hadn’t.

“No,” he said. “But I’m afraid I _might_.”

To his surprise, Steve chuckled darkly.

“This brings me back to you being the one not to like me.” Shaking his head, Steve looked away. “Do you want me to hate you, Bucky? Because… I’m sitting here, trying to figure out what I _should_ feel, and I can only think… you’re doing this because you want me to hate you.”

Bucky put the cigarette to his lips but didn’t inhale, thinking. Maybe he did want Steve to hate him; in some perverse way validating all his fears that Steve couldn’t, maybe even shouldn’t, be able to swallow all the things Bucky had done. He had lived for his vengeance while in Hydra’s control, for the blood he had spilled while tearing them apart. It was the anger that had driven him then. Steve took a lot of that anger out of Bucky and, in a strange way, Bucky hated that so much of what he was was being overwritten by his need for Steve. 

However, he’d chosen Steve. He’d chosen him and Bucky would not back out of that decision because it was _his_. The way the bond changed after Steve’s accident, the way it had muted, no longer transponding emotions between them like an overly enthusiastic foghorn, made Bucky think the bond wasn’t as permanent as he had thought. Bucky also knew, vividly, all the ways he could hurt Steve without even wanting to. Maybe somewhere deep under the old layers of anger and bitterness, he believed that Steve hadn’t fully known what he was getting into with Bucky, and would eventually learn to hate him and his otherness. If that was the case, it _would_ be better if he could walk away sooner rather than later.

“Maybe,” Bucky answered, taking a small drag of the cigarette. His hair was going to stink to high heaven after this. 

Steve watched him, eyes dark and unreadable for a very long time. Long enough that Bucky’s cigarette was nothing but ash.

“Do you want the bond to break?” Steve asked finally, his voice calm and clear. “If you could choose it - right now, right here in this room - would you choose to break the bond?”

“No.” And for Bucky it was so easy. If it was his choice, he wouldn’t break the bond. He could offer it to Steve, but he would not take that way out. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Steve exhaled loudly, sounding strangely relieved.

“I’m glad,” Steve said, sliding from the bed to the floor opposite Bucky and sitting, mirroring his position.

“Are you really?”

“Yes,” Steve said firmly. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were mine. I never once thought I wanted to be rid of you even when you were being a jerk.”

Bucky huffed even as he let a small smirk spread over his lips, feeling oddly pleased that Steve would say how he felt so unflinchingly. He rarely snapped at Bucky, and that always made Bucky forget that wasn’t an indication Steve was all right. Since Bucky usually let his displeasure show as soon as he felt it, he subconsciously expected Steve to as well. This easy, little dig felt good because it meant Steve was going to defend himself. Bucky liked that a lot.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked, a little smile touching his lips.

“Nothing. Just you getting prickly,” Bucky smiled a quick, small smile. “I like it.”

Steve rolled his eyes at him and Bucky again felt the urge to smile. Sass. So much sass. Normally, he only saw it when Steve was talking to someone he hated but felt he had to pretend to respect, or if Steve was in an exceptional mood.

“I’ve gotten the impression I normally don’t express myself very well, so, here’s me expressing myself. If I get better, or if I don’t, I want to try to keep whatever it is that’s between us.”

Bucky turned Steve’s words around in his head, surprised, but also happy that, even not remembering or liking him that much, Steve wouldn’t break the bond. Still, he was only halfway right: it wasn't that Steve didn’t express himself, it was that he expressed his feelings in ways that Bucky didn’t understand.

“When you and I met, I hated your guts,” Bucky said, thinking back to the Triskelion and the little show he was brought in to perform. “You were everything I hated about an Alpha. Strong, obviously a threat, acting all superior and, the worst of it, interested. Not that you liked me all that much either.”

“Wait, back up,” Steve interrupted. “How did we meet that we disliked each other? And how the hell did we end up bonded if that was the start of it?”

Bucky had to tell the story in some kind of order it seemed, or Steve would keep getting confused by the time skips. And, perhaps, they should have had this conversation a week ago.

“I was in Hydra’s hands for about seventy years,” he explained. “The first few they spent experimenting on me, both medically and psychologically, steadily breaking me down. Once there was almost nothing human left, they introduced the bonds as a way to control me.”

He could hear Steve swallow. Bucky had tried to use general terms, not examples. He remember how strongly Steve had reacted the few times he went into detail. Truthfully, he didn’t like to think too much about the details either.

“Did you escape?” Steve asked after a while.

“Yeah.”

Steve gestured with his hand for Bucky to elaborate.

“Mostly through their negligence. In such a long span of time, they didn’t notice that the bonds were increasingly shorter, and the influence of the bonds was steadily getting weaker. I think I learned to subconsciously suppress them. Then, one day, the bond didn’t take at all.”

“What did you do after you escaped?”

Bucky twisted his lips in a parody of a smile.

“I hunted them down,” Bucky said fiercely, proud of his vengeful rampage. “Everything they taught me, I used to smoke them out of their hiding places and slaughtered as many as I could.” 

“Did we meet then?” Steve asked, “When you were… avenging?”

Bucky shook his head, only barely registering the unintentional pun.

“It took awhile, but I got all the higher ups, all the important ones. There were probably a lot of lackeys left, some splinter groups, but nothing organised. S.H.I.E.L.D. itself was compromised. Hydra had worked itself into its structures and was hiding in plain sight. When I went for Pierce and his operation, the whole of S.H.I.E.L.D. turned on me. Eventually I was captured and hidden in a black ops prison. They kept me locked up for three years until there was a crisis big enough that they were willing to negotiate with me in exchange for my help in dealing with it. You led that mission.”

“I bet you were charming,” Steve said sarcastically, getting his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. When the foil crinkled, there wes was a small stampede and the kittens appeared to investigate. Bucky watched as Steve attempted to play with kittens without any toys. Eventually they got bored and chased each other away, leaving Steve staring after them.

“I most definitely wasn’t,” Bucky said, catching Steve’s attention again now that the cats were gone; they’d needed his attention after being apart for so long. “And the fact that that mission was an absolute shitstorm from start to finish didn’t help matters.”

“Then how did we end up together?” Steve pressed.

“I kept provoking you, but you never took the bait. It frustrated the living shit out of me,” Bucky admitted. “You constantly refused to do what I expected you to do. It drove me mad. And you were so fucking stubborn, always trying to get the last word, no matter what.”

Steve chuckled. 

“I’m afraid to know more. This story is so different than what I expected to hear.”

Pulling two cigarettes from the pack, Steve placed them both in his mouth. The lighter flared, making his face glow with warmth. He puffed, the sticks caught alight, and he took one from his mouth. Leaning across the space between them, he offered it and Bucky leaned to take it from him, letting their fingers brush.

“What did you expect to hear?” Bucky asked curiously.

“I don't know; some kind of movie-perfect love story?” Steve frowned, his statement uncertain. “There has to be a reason you don’t like the current me so much.”

Bucky shook his head. Bucky was fond of this Steve, he just had no idea what to do with him.

“It’s not that I don't like you,” Bucky said slowly, “I just… let him inside my defenses against all my instincts. Since you’ve forgotten everything, who I am, what kind of man I am, I’m finding I was… leaning on you in ways I didn’t even know. I don’t… like that. I was never dependant. It’s made me angry finding out otherwise.”

“Angry at me,” Steve clarified, eyes dark with some unfathomable emotion.

“I _hate_ it,” Bucky snarled, leaning forwards, the words feeling fiery in his chest. “I’m not supposed to need you and you’re…” Taking a deep breath, he looked away from Steve whose expression he didn’t understand without the bond between them. “He’s not here and I shouldn’t need him, but I do.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t let me walk away,” Steve said, so much surprise in his voice that Bucky turned to look at him again. Though he still held the lit cigarette, he’d put his hand against the floor and pushed himself forward. Now the smouldering end lay close to the bedding, but Bucky couldn’t warn him when Steve’s eyes were so intense and bright. “Even though I shoved you, told you to leave me be, you couldn’t let me go.”

Bucky nodded a fraction, watching Steve carefully. The challenge to Steve’s body language had Bucky’s first instinct to respond in kind, but he quashed the feeling. This Steve was proving he wasn’t a threat, didn’t _want_ to be a threat. Bucky exhaled cigarette smoke and kept his body still, his arm relaxed at his side. Just watching; giving Steve the benefit of doubt he wouldn’t have given anyone else.

The silence stretched between them and Steve finally leaned back, didn’t reach for Bucky, and that horrid tension slipped from Bucky’s limbs. Steve set the cigarette back into his mouth, puffed so it glowed in the dark room, and asked, “So why’d you hate me when we met the first time?”

Bucky felt the rest of the tension he was fighting fall away. Bringing his own cigarette back to his lips, he thought back and started his story again.

“You were stubborn, and you kept pushing and wheedling, arguing over every little thing.” Bucky paused, feeling the frustration of those first days come back with a vengeance. God had he wanted to strangle Steve so bad. “But you were also fair. And you respected me. I could see it, and it… it made me look at you differently.”

“How?”

“Like you could be an actual human being.”

Steve laughed

“As opposed to…?”

“An Alpha,” Bucky finished. “That was the big thing for me, to see you as something other than your designation.”

“So we fell in love then?”

Bucky snorted and shook his head.

“Hardly. We got infected with a strange virus that almost turned us all into monsters, then got dosed with an experimental cure. Once it worked, it turned out the virus was delaying your rut so it hit full force while we were still in quarantine. We fucked; I used your fingerprints to escape S.H.I.E.L.D. medical and their custody. Oh, and I didn’t realise you had temporarily bonded me.”

Steve stared at Bucky, his cigarette frozen halfway to his mouth.

“That’s a horrible story!”

This time, Bucky genuinely laughed.

“I think it actually got worse later on.”

Steve scrubbed his hand down his face.

“How could it have gotten _worse_?”

“You tracked me down. In hindsight, I know it was to offer me a place with your team, but then it felt like you were just proving that you could find me, and it made me run as far away as I could.”

“Since you’re here, I assume you came back eventually.” Steve stretched his legs and Bucky couldn't help but watch the way the muscles of his thigh shifted. He wanted to _touch_. “Why?” 

“In part your insane idea to slap Congress in the face with my unlawful imprisonment at the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D. On national T.V. Did I mention the _national_ part?”

“Three times,” Steve answered wryly.

“Good, it wouldn’t do to forget it,” Bucky agreed.

“Yeah,” Steve drawled, “I’m getting the feeling that you and forgetting doesn't really work together that well.”

Bucky pretended not to hear the comment.

“So I met Michael; he gave me a kick to come back, and I did.”

“And we bonded?” Steve asked with a smile.

“No,” Bucky answered grumpily, remembering that time. “You kept insisting on all these dates, which wouldn’t have been all that bad, but you kept _refusing sex_ , and that was frustrating as hell.”

Steve looked Bucky over pointedly.

“Why would I refuse sex with _you_?”

“Don't ask me! For all I know it was some kind of punishment or something.”

Steve spread his arms, bewildered.

“How the hell did we manage to bond at all?”

“Out of sheer frustration I think,” Bucky answered with a grin.

“Frustration,” Steve shook his head, a half smile on his lips. “I can see that.”

“Ashtray?”

“Here,” Steve hopped up, fetching a glass square with several cigarette butts languishing inside. Bucky tossed the butt of his own cigarette into it and sighed.

“I have no idea why you do this,” he complained. “The nicotine has zero effect on us, just makes us stink.”

Steve laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky asked, watching the way Steve’s t-shirt stretched over his chest.

“It just occurred to me that you are an inherently grumpy person,” Steve responded cheerfully, still chuckling.

Bucky tilted his head sideways, raising his eyebrow.

“And it’s funny?”

“Well,” Steve said, snubbing out his own cigarette, “I thought you were so unfriendly and angry at me because of what happened. It’s a relief to know it’s just how you are.”

Bucky shook his head. 

“You are one strange cookie,” he murmured, getting his feet under himself and standing.

“Bucky,” Steve called, watching him with dark, thoughtful eyes, “what you said about the forced bond...” This time it was Steve who licked his lips nervously. “It required-”

“Sex,” Bucky interrupted, watching him just as intently, wondering what the Alpha was aiming at.

Steve frowned fiercely, the expression eerily familiar and yet out of place.

“Rape,” he said firmly, the words fierce and angry. “It wasn’t sex.” 

Every time Bucky saw Steve furious on his behalf, his Alpha prepared to fight people that were already dead, he felt strange. Like his chest and stomach were both squirming and too full, uncomfortable in a way he preferred not to be. Did it mean something that this Steve, one who didn't know him at all, displayed the same kind reaction?

“I never resisted, Steve,” Bucky said quietly. “It wasn’t some kind of torture.”

Steve’s eyes flashed. 

“But it _was_.”

Looking away, Bucky shrugged. 

“It happened, I survived. Let’s move on.”

Though he opened his mouth, Steve sighed and nodded. Instead of saying whatever was on his mind, he looked away, rubbing the palms of his hands over his thighs nervously. 

“If it happened to you as many times as you implied,” Steve looked up at Bucky, unknowingly baring his throat for him. The gesture was both achingly familiar and disquieting in a man who didn’t know why he was even doing it. “How did you and I...” 

Steve gestured vaguely between them.

“Have sex?” Bucky asked bluntly.

Though he blushed a little, Steve set his jaw resolutely and held Bucky’s gaze. 

“Yes. How did it work? I mean, I’m,” Steve mentioned to his body; to the large, powerful frame, “not exactly unthreatening.”

Bucky shrugged, but he smiled as he looked at the aforementioned body.

“Very enthusiastically,” Bucky drawled, leaning down and letting his hair fall into his eyes. “And often.”

The blush high on Steve’s cheeks darkened. It wasn’t an embarrassed flush, though. Those covered his face and neck. This one meant Steve was _interested_.

“No, uhm, I meant…” Steve sighed and ran his hand over his hair, looking sheepish. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but when I… Last time I touched you, and you panicked, was it _how_ I asked? Was it me, or… your past?”

Bucky stared at Steve, at the familiar shape of him, and wondered if his instinctive reaction to attack might have been caused by something as simple as Steve not following his usual patterns. When he thought about it, Steve had always made sure to make his intentions clear _before_ he touched Bucky. And while Steve often fucked him from behind - Bucky liked the angle and depth the position gave them - Steve had never actually started anything sexual by approaching from behind. Bucky hadn’t even realised it was happening, that Steve was acting consciously, was _handling_ him, until it was gone. Until _now_ , and it made Bucky both angry at being coddled, and grateful that Steve had never made a big issue of it.

“Huh,” Bucky considered. “You know, it could have very well been the reason.”

“So, um,” Steve rubbed his neck, “would you mind if I tried to touch you again? Not, not for sex. I just…” Steve blushed harder, this time embarrassed. “I really just want to touch you, even just your hand, or… anything.”

Bucky had always wanted to touch Steve, and he liked Steve touching him; never wanted him to stop. Even when Natasha had been pulling him out of the room earlier, she had caught his sleeve, not actually touched him because he really didn't like being touched by people. People other than the few he let in close. Of them all, Steve was the most important and Bucky missed his touch too.

“Don’t move,” Bucky warned, moving towards the seated Alpha. 

When Bucky reached Steve’s legs, he nudged them with his booted foot until Steve pulled his legs close together. He frowned, but sat still as Bucky stood over him. After a moment, he folded himself to his knees in one smooth movement that ended with him straddling Steve’s thighs, his weight distributed evenly between his own legs and Steve’s. Then he tightened his, pressing his knees against Steve’s hips. The position was surprisingly comfortable. Best of all, this way he had control of Steve’s center of gravity, would be able to feel it if Steve shifted unexpectedly. With Steve’s arms in plain sight, Bucky had an advantage that stopped the cold sensation of unease from creeping up his spine he was used to when an Alpha was too close.

“Okay?” Steve asked, still not having moved.

Bucky touched the tip of his tongue to his upper lip, resting his hands on Steve’s shoulders, enjoying the warmth and the breadth of them under his palms.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice rasping in his throat. “Yeah. Touch me.”

Slowly, Steve lifted his hands to Bucky’s hips. The movement made Bucky want to growl, but he didn’t just let them perch there. His fingertips brushed above Bucky’s waistband, then under his shirt and over skin. Instantly Bucky’s breathing hitched. It had been so long since he’d been touched, and he’d gotten used to having Steve there every morning, every night - well, most of the time - and he hadn’t had it in a long time. 

“You smell so good,” Steve said, sounding helpless and bewildered. “How can somebody smell as good as you?”

Sliding his hands further beneath Bucky’s shirt, Steve pressed them against his sides, then slid them around to his back. Steve sighed softly as he rubbed them up Bucky’s spine, to his shoulder blades, then back down again. The touch was so warm, and Steve looked so… happy.

“You’re incredible,” Steve said almost dreamily.

“I’m cranky, have scars, don’t care about people and the shit that happens to them,” Bucky warned, leaning closer to Steve, his hair falling forward so it almost touched Steve’s face as Bucky hovered over him.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve said, gaze flicking to Bucky’s lips.

“Touch more,” Bucky ordered, leaning in the last few inches and letting their lips touch. He shifted off his knees and straight onto Steve’s lap, pinning him with his weight. 

As Steve hesitated against his lips, obviously unsure of how to act with Bucky now, Bucky growled. At the sound, however, Steve responded with his own, a low rumble that made Bucky shiver with how familiar it was, how good it felt to hear. He opened his mouth, licking Steve’s, and the Alpha tightened his hold, opening as well and curling his tongue about Bucky’s, giving as good as he got and no longer shy. 

Bucky groaned into the kiss, tangling both his hands in Steve’s hair and pulling carefully. Their bodies were so close their chests were pressed tightly together, rubbing against each other as Bucky rocked lightly on Steve’s lap. The kiss deepened, both eager and hungry for the other. One of Steve’s hands was sprawled over the scarring where the metal plates connected with his skin on Bucky’s back. The other was on Bucky’s chest, curled possessively over his right pectoral, pawing at his nipple. It felt so good to have Steve touching him again, to have his hands on his skin, his warmth so close. Bucky could feel his lips tingling, the kisses leaving them sensitive and swollen. 

It was clear Steve wanted sex. He could feel Steve getting hard, the insistent bulge of his cock pressing into the juncture of Bucky’s legs. His desire was unmistakeable. Part of Bucky wanted it, wanted to give in to the desire that was always there between them. A larger, more distrustful part was sounding alarm bells. This was not his Steve. This was not the man he knew, had chosen and trusted. As much as he hated it, sex didn’t always solve their problems. 

Bucky pulled away from the kiss, his fingers tightening in Steve’s hair when the Alpha tried to follow for more.

“Enough,” Bucky said hoarsely, his lips just a hairsbreadth away from Steve’s wet and swollen ones, his breath moist and hot against his skin.

“Bucky,” Steve whined and Bucky shuddered all over at the sound. Whoever had declared that Alphas didn’t whine had never told Steve. The sound was sinful and made his toes curl.

Shaking his head, mostly to clear his own mind, Bucky said, “We can’t,” and pushed himself away from Steve. He didn’t get up though, staying seated on Steve’s legs.

“Okay, okay,” Steve said breathlessly, his hands stilling under Bucky’s shirt, but not withdrawing. “No sex, but… do you have to leave? We can go to the living room? I can… just sit near you?”

Bucky considered, looking into Steve’s eyes, trying to gauge what would be better for the Alpha in the long run. To be left alone to cool down, or to stay close to Bucky as he asked.

“I’m hungry,” he admitted. Eating hadn’t been a high priority for him the last few days and Bucky’s stomach was complaining at the lack of sustenance. 

Steve seemed to cheer up unreasonably.

“I have tuna casserole,” he informed Bucky happily.

Bucky frowned, suspicious of any cooking Steve might have done in his current state.

“Who cooked it?”

Steve’s face fell as he admitted, “Mostly Michael.”

This time, it was Bucky who felt cheered up. Michael’s cooking he could always eat.

“Should have said so in the first place. That man comes from family of chefs. He _knows_ cooking.”

“So, will you stay?”

Bucky nodded.

“Yeah. I won’t be able to sleep here, not even with the surveillance turned off, but I will stay longer.”

“Can I know why?”

“On my floor the surveillance equipment isn’t turned off. It’s been physically removed. It can’t be turned on.”

“Wow, you are _really_ paranoid,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow.

“I spent over seventy years in a cage with no privacy whatsoever,” Bucky said mildly, “I’m not going to compromise on a single shred of it.”

Steve frowned.

“Not even… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you didn’t like being here, because of the,” Steve waved his hand at the ceiling. “You should have told me.”

“Bucky,” he said flatly, “I thought it was because of me. You didn’t say _why_.”

Bucky frowned, confused.

“I never told you I didn’t want to be on this floor with you.”

Steve gave him a long look. 

“You acted like you hated me, kept saying - with everyone else - how I wasn’t acting like him. You didn’t want me to touch you, not that I knew why, and you didn’t like it _here_. With me.”

Bucky frowned harder. 

“I generally do my best to kill the people I hate. Fury is the only exception because I mostly think he will get himself killed either way, and I only need to wait the bastard out.”

“And I was supposed to know that how?” Steve asked, exasperated.

Bucky harrumphed, slumping a little.

“I never said I didn’t like you,” he defended himself weakly, “or that I hated you. And I did my best not to hurt you.” Steve raised his eyebrows. Both of them. “... physically,” Bucky clarified, feeling grumpy at the fact that Steve didn’t understand him at all. It was like Steve needed to be taught all over again and… fuck.

“You’re adorable,” Steve said fondly, “gorgeous, too, but you gotta give me a break here. You say a lot without speaking sometimes.”

“I thought I was giving you a break,” Bucky said petulantly, indicating the distance between their bodies. He couldn’t think of a greater gift than personal space. To have a place just yours, untouched by others, was the calmest, most relaxing thing that Bucky could imagine.

“Uh huh,” Steve rolled his eyes, “except for the whole leaving it all up to me to figure out why you were upset and how to fix it.”

Frowning, Bucky slid his hands up Steve’s arms to his neck, and back to his shoulders. The statement wasn’t exactly correct. Steve couldn’t fix everything, couldn’t fix himself most of all, and he couldn’t fix the promise his old self gave to Bucky. He wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to tell this Steve about the pregnancy or not. He wasn’t sure about a lot of things. A baby was the one thing he had never considered possible. Then again, if Steve couldn’t fix everything, if he wasn’t going to be able to fix things like he had before, Bucky was going to have to try to meet him halfway.

“If you don’t see my fist flying at your face, it’s safe to assume you didn't piss me off,” Bucky conceded.

“Bullshit,” Steve huffed. “You didn’t punch me once in all the times I pissed you off. You even threw me through a wall - very clear signal by the way - but didn’t punch me.”

“I communicate clearly,” Bucky insisted.

“If by clear, you mean opaque, sure.”

Bucky ignored Steve’s comment.

“What makes you think,” Bucky said slowly, “that the previous you and I were any better at this communication thing?” He made a vague gesture between himself and Steve. “This? Is actually kind of standard for us. You ask me questions I don’t understand. I answer and only manage to irritate the shit out of you.”

“Clearly,” Steve said, the irritation returning to his face before Bucky even mentioned it. “Bucky, I’m not him. I don’t care about how well you and _he_ got along. Can you do this for _me_? I’m trying, I am, but I can’t… I’m struggling alone.”

“It’s why I came back here,” Bucky answered quickly. “It’s why I gave the kittens to you, so you wouldn’t be alone.”

Steve’s hands ran back up Bucky’s back, on top of his shirt this time. Frowning, he sat staring at Bucky’s lips. It was the face Steve made when he was over-thinking his answers, picking what was right, but Bucky wasn’t sure how _this_ Steve could have learned to do that.

“So we can do this together?” Steve finally asked. 

“If you can talk to me about what you need,” Bucky agreed, “and I don’t have to hear about it through Michael or Sam again.”

The line between Steve’s eyebrows didn’t fade.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said softly. “You were so mad with me; you always seem so mad with me.”

“That wasn’t me being mad,” Bucky protested. “I’m not… I don’t think I was ever really mad at you,” Bucky continued. “I don’t trust words; they’re too easy, they cost nothing. I prefer actions, physicality, because that _costs_. That’s a _risk_. It’s not so easy to lie with contact.”

Steve opened his mouth and shut it, a helpless expression taking over his face.

“I don’t know how to talk to you that way,” Steve said, hands falling from Bucky’s hips. “In the kitchen, I understood you wanted me away, but not why, or when to come back. So I went to Sam. When you tossed me off Michael, I wanted to leave. That… We almost came to blows. I don’t want to fight you, Bucky.”

Bucky leaned back, looking down at Steve thoughtfully and watching Steve watch him. His thighs were pressed tightly against Steve’s legs, keeping them locked together. The position gave him both leverage and the ability to assess the level of tension in Steve’s body much better than if he only had visual clues to go on, and there was a lot.

“You were hiding things,” Bucky accused. “Bottling what you felt, trying to gain distance.” Bucky tightened the hold of his knees on Steve’s legs. “I didn’t like that.” He licked his lips. “And I wanted to see if…” Bucky trailed off, not sure if he should finish his thought at all.

“If?” Steve prompted, eyes searching. 

“If I could provoke you into violence,” Bucky admitted. “I wanted to see where your limits were now.”

“Why?” Steve demanded, leaning away from Bucky against the bed. Something like pain was written on his face, but Bucky knew Steve was injured. “Why would you do that? Did nothing I felt matter?”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Bucky confessed, not trying to breach the distance between them now. “It’s all I know. Assessing. Placing people in categories. A threat or not a threat. You… you are a problem. You are too strong, too big, too… resilient. You are a threat. But.” Bucky licked his lips again, then bit down on the bottom one. “I don’t want you to be one.” He looked down at the wide stretch of Steve’s chest and the sharply toned swell of his biceps under the shirt he was wearing. “I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“I really hope,” Steve said, voice thick and tight, “that you don’t think that makes it better, or okay. I know,” his hands lifted at last, surprisingly settling on Bucky’s shoulders, “that people hurt you. And I don’t know how the other me dealt with that. But me? I’m not okay with what you did. I thought… No, I _expected_ you to care, while it was more important to you to collect your _data_.”

The bitterness of the last word took Bucky aback, but the entire statement was the real surprise. Steve wasn’t trying to fix Bucky’s problem, he wasn’t ignoring his own hurt. He was confronting Bucky, and as much as it stung, in the end Bucky preferred it that way. It gave him a clear picture of what was going on with Steve, no way to misunderstand or wonder about what he was missing. For the first time, Steve was clear to him.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quietly. The words were a small consolation, no matter how rare it was for him to apologize to anyone, for anything. Steve never expected him to apologize and it made Bucky want to, even if this Steve wouldn’t have that knowledge. It hadn’t been his intention to hurt Steve, but as Bucky rarely considered his own emotions, he also rarely considered Steve’s. Even though he should have known better. He should have considered Steve’s feelings before he let instinct take over. He’d known that afterwards, but by then it had been too late.

Steve’s hands slid down Bucky’s arms, rubbing gently. At the initiated contact Bucky shifted his center of gravity settling more of his weight on Steve’s legs, making the Alpha feel him, while being glad for the return of contact. Even with this Steve, he knew it meant his Alpha wasn’t mad at him.

“You are the only person I trust implicitly,” Steve whispered. “How can I be that for you?”

Bucky laughed weakly, leaning into Steve and resting his palms on his shoulders.

“You are the only person I trust at all,” Bucky whispered.

“Even when you think I’m a threat?” Steve asked, lifting a hand to Bucky’s cheek and trailing it down his neck. “Even more than Natasha?”

Bucky blinked.

“Natasha is your friend, not mine.”

“Really?” It was Steve’s turn to blink in surprise. “But you’re always going off with her and she’s always… lying to me.”

“She’s a Black Widow,” Bucky said, leaning into Steve’s touch. “They were made to be the embodiment of a spy. She can’t help it, just like I can’t help threat-assessing every person I meet. It’s how we were made. I only go to her because she’s the most ruthless, after me. We understand what it means when things need to be done, and there’s no need to lay that on anyone else of your pack. Especially now, when we were attacked and can’t get any information about who or why.”

“I don’t know what a Black Widow is,” Steve said slowly, “and we’re losing my point, but… isn’t someone who understands you and watches your back a friend?”

Bucky shook his head.

“She loves you. She will do anything for you. Helping me is only watching your back by proxy.”

“Oh my god, are you always this stubborn?” Steve blurted.

“It’s true,” Bucky insisted. “She was one of the first members of your pack. She adores you. She can’t afford to let anything happen to me because of our bond.”

“Him,” Steve corrected almost absently. “She adores him.”

“Either way, it’s not about me,” Bucky insisted again.

Steve stared at him in silence for a long moment, then dropped his hand so it settled heavily on Bucky’s shoulder once more.

“Suddenly, your comment about us bonding out of sheer frustration is starting to make a lot more sense.” Steve huffed, rolled his eyes, and dropped his hands back to Bucky’s hips. “So? How do I make myself not a threat?”

Bucky grimaced, still unsure what to feel about having been obviously handled by Steve without even knowing it.

“If you have any kind of sexual intent towards me, make sure I’m aware of what you plan to do before you touch me,” he admitted, feeling somehow ashamed at this weakness. “Don’t startle me like in the kitchen. And… don’t go for my neck right away.”

“I can do that,” Steve said easily, “and I’ll keep trying to talk to you, and you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt if stuff goes sideways again?”

“I am giving you the benefit of the doubt, which is why I am not currently interrogating Michael if you two were about to fuck when Natasha and I came in.”

Steve sputtered.

“ _That’s_ what you thought? Bucky, no, I swear. We weren’t. Michael’s great, but he’s not you.”

“Michael has a thing for Alphas,” Bucky insisted, “and you two were awfully close.”

“Bucky…”

“But I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Bucky added, stopping that tirade before it started. “Which is why it’s Natasha interrogating Michael right now.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Bucky, he’s not you. I want you.”

Bucky lowered his gaze.

“You don’t know me well enough to want me yet,” he said quietly, “but I’m willing to wait.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, sounding a little confused. “We’ll wait until I know you.”

Bucky nodded.

“Food now?”

Smiling, Steve let his hands fall back to Bucky’s hips.

“Food now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mandatory break point.
> 
> If you have been reading this non stop, please get up, go for a walk, or go to sleep. We'll still be here later. <3


	12. Chapter 12

It was early enough that the pub he was parked in front of was still closed. Bucky leaned back on his borrowed bike and pulled out his phone. Older, it didn’t have the ability to connect to the Internet, let alone GPS, and thus couldn’t be used against him. The only people who had the number were people he trusted, mostly his contacts, and he pulled up the latest message now. This contact was solid, old enough that Bucky expected good intel from him, and Bucky was right on time.

Though there was a CLOSED sign on the door, when he pushed the handle it swung open. The main room was dark, the chairs on top of the tables. The lights were on at the bar, shining on the multicolored bottles lining the shelves and a white towel on the scarred wood of the counter.

Bucky frowned, reaching behind himself to pull the Glock from the holster hidden beneath his jacket. 

Something was wrong.

One good inhale and he could smell the unmistakeable scent of gunpowder and blood, so he kept his mouth shut. It was no use calling for those no longer among the living.

No sounds reached his ears, but that didn't mean Bucky was alone. Scanning the area, he crept to the counter, expecting… well, _something_. He knew he’d been right when he caught sight of the pair of boots on the floor behind the counter. Bracing one hand on the old wood, he vaulted the counter and landed in a tacky pool of blood that was growing around Bruno, the owner of the pub and Bucky’s contact. 

Bucky felt something too much like regret as he examined Bruno’s dead body and the neat cluster of bullet holes in his chest, right over his heart. Whoever had shot him had had training and didn’t look like trouble if Bruno hadn’t even pulled the gun he kept under the counter. They’d met when Bruno was barely seventeen; one of the new recruits Hydra had paraded before the Soldier to show them the nightmare that would come for them if they failed in their training or duty. The man was barely more than thirty now.

When Bucky had gone after Hydra, a lot of those poor bastards had taken the chance and run to try and find a normal life. Bruno had been one. A mere coincidence had them meeting, and Bucky hadn’t wasted the chance to expand his network. Bruno had contacts among the others that had escaped Hydra.

Well, he’d _had_ them.

Bucky crouched down to look through the man’s pockets, finding and taking the phone in the dead man’s pocket. Cracked and scratched, maybe it would shed some light on the information Bruno had been killed for. And Bucky was sure that’s why he was dead now. Coincidences like this just didn’t happen.

Tucking the phone away, Bucky brought his gun back up and continued clearing the bar. There were back rooms in this pub he’d used before to meet up with other contacts without being noticed. Barely had he taken a step in their direction than he heard the sounds. Two people were coming, one very quiet, obviously trained, and other heavy, the way civilians usually sounded.

Turning to make sure his left side was facing the newcomers and aimed his gun. He had no doubt he was about to meet the killers, even if he had no idea why they had set this up. That why was the only thing that kept him from killing them right now.

“We thought you’d be here sooner,” a voice, low and warm, called from the darkness. A moment later, an older gentleman in a fine tailored suit stepped out, hands in his pockets. Unarmed, which made Bucky incredibly uncomfortable. The kind of people who set traps for Bucky were only unarmed when they were supremely confident they’d survive to walk away. “I have to say, I was expecting more… violence from you, but I’m glad to say I’m proven wrong.”

Bucky wasn’t going to fall for whatever this guy planned for him. 

“If you know my reputation, you know you’re lucky I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Ah, luck.” The stranger pulled an empty hand free of his pocket and indicated the gun Bucky was holding, “If you kill me, your lover turns from an amnesiac into a useless vegetable.”

With effort, Bucky kept his face still. Inside he was reeling. It was one thing to suspect there was still something wrong with Steve, that he was reacting strangely at times, more than lack of memory would explain. It was another to realize that this stranger, this man he’d seen for the first time in his life, knew what was happening to Steve, or that it could become worse. Steve could stop being Steve completely, a body in a hospital, nothing more. It shook Bucky to the core the careless way this man insinuated Steve could totally lose his mind.

“Yes, my ‘ _luck_ ’. Creative, isn’t it, having his mind in my pocket. I mean, I could just be lying...” The man grinned, his grandfatherly kindness vanishing with the cruelty of something that should be anything but. “Do you wish a demonstration?”

Bucky was frozen. On the one hand, what happened was improbable enough that there was very little chance that this guy could know what had happened to Steve. The cold part of him demanded proof, but a new part, the one that made it hard to breathe now, was terrified of what that proof might be.

“No, well, if you change your mind…” The man’s cruel smile melted into banality as he stepped behind the bar, stepped over Bruno, and started pouring a drink. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here and what I want. Yes?”

Bucky lowered his gun and holstered it. Whatever was happening here he couldn’t solve with a bullet to the head. “It does seem like you have me at a disadvantage,” Bucky answered carefully. At the very least, he shouldn’t look like he was considering violence as a solution. If he changed his mind, he could always use his bare hands to kill the smug bastard. 

“Good, good. Drink?” 

Bucky shook his head. Bracing his arm against the counter, Bucky vaulted over, landing softly on his feet. If he couldn't use his guns, he would at least lessen the distance between himself and his target.

“Step back,” a different voice this time. 

From where the older man had come, a new one appeared. He was a trained shooter, the one that must have killed Bruno. He was painfully average; short brown hair, a nice but inexpensive suit; and a pleasant, but forgettable face. His gun was trained on Bucky, stance grounded and steady. A professional. A dead man, too because Bucky was going to track him down and kill him. He didn’t have to have killed the contact. It gained them nothing. Bucky would one day make him pay for that.

“It’s fine, Reese,” the stranger said, not even a little ruffled. “Mr. Barnes, I do hope you don’t think I’d come with your mate’s brain in my pocket. If anything happens to me, he’s lost. Brain fried. Gone for good. On the other hand…,” lifting the newly-filled glass of whiskey, the man took a sip and smiled that unsettling smile, “if you’re a good boy, I can give him back to you.”

Bucky’s stomach roiled, bitter acid filling it as the casually dismissive words reminded Bucky of his old handlers, how they used to talk to him. Instinct said to bare his teeth and go for the guy’s throat, a goddamn beta to boot, but Bucky couldn’t. Not with Steve’s life on the line. So he stayed still, like a good little dog.

“You see, Barnes,” the fucker went on as if Bucky had spoken, “I’m a big believer in using the carrot _and_ the stick. You play ball, you get your man back, plus a tidy sum, a cushy job. What do you say?”

“Depends on the game,” Bucky said slowly, taking care to not betray his anger, or his fear.

The man took another sip of his drink. Bucky noticed that the alcohol level was barely lowering. He was drinking for show only. Playing a part, fucking with Bucky.

“I’m not unreasonable.” Bucky hated how he sounded honest. “It’s nothing you would find utterly objectionable. Though, first you’ll have to get your hands dirty. Prove you’re playing for our team now. Oh,” the man laughed and Bucky took a half step back out of reflex, “let’s get to the point, shall we? Your test, to get back your mate, will be to kill Tony Stark.”

Bucky stared, taken aback.

“I don’t care how you do it, but do it. Your darling’s mind will be given back to you and you take on the _real_ job, knowing, _of course_ , that we can always take Steve away again.”

So, they intended to make Steve his yoke, the chain that leashed him again. He could see the man was sure of himself, was absolutely confident in the truth of his words. Worst of all, he was _right_. Bucky had no leverage here, none but his own skills and what he suspected was his real value: a scapegoat.

“You want the Winter Soldier to kill Tony Stark,” he murmured, deliberately relaxing his stance. “That’s a bridge-burner for me.”

“I want Tony Stark dead, eliminated, and gone.” The affable tone had gone cold and nasty. “If the _Winter Soldier_ can’t manage that without getting caught, it’s his problem.”

Bucky wracked his brain on how to make the guy negotiate. It was pretty clear he wouldn’t change his mind about Stark, the emotion in his voice meaning this was more than personal, but Bucky couldn't stand the knowledge that Steve would forever be under the man’s thumb. That his memory, his mind would be nothing but a plaything. A chain to keep Bucky obedient. Exactly like the bonds he’d suffered in the past had been used.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I see the problem.” The easy, friendly tone was back, as was the grandfatherly smile. “You think we want you forever. No, Barnes, I’m not dumb enough to think you’ll accept another collar. You kill Stark, we give you back Rogers, then you get what I really want, and you never see me again. Two jobs, that’s all you’ll owe me.”

“After I take care of Stark,” Bucky said carefully, “you will give me enough information about what is happening to Steve to verify your words. I need a way to make sure whatever it is that’s messing with his brain is gone."

Shaking his head, as if sad, the man set his drink on the counter. 

“Now, Mr. Barnes, you know I can’t do that. Not that you can make any demands here, but,” that smile that made Bucky’s spine crawl, “I can always show you my proof that we can control it _and_ , if you get what I want quickly, I’ll give you everything you need to know. When it’s _over_ , Mr. Barnes, and not a moment before.”

“What kind of proof would that be?” Bucky asked carefully. The cold part of himself was clamoring for certainty, for physical, undeniable proof before he sold himself into service.

“Call your mate, Mr. Barnes. Have a chat.”

Even as he said it, the man pulled out his own cell phone and tapped in a quick message. Bucky pulled his other phone out of his pocket, watching the man from the corner of his eye as he powered it on. Then tapped out Steve’s number from memory. He never saved his contacts, the list completely empty, and cleaned his call history after every use.

Steve picked up after the first ring.

“Hello?” 

“Hey,” Bucky cleared his throat unsure suddenly what to say. That was all the man needed, however. He sent another message and Steve yelped.

“Steve?” It almost hurt, forcing his tone calm, not yelling into into the phone. “What’s happening? Steve? Talk to me.”

“Give it a moment, Mr. Barnes,” the fucker said with that vicious smile. “I’m sure it’s very disorienting, getting all those memories back at once.”

Bucky breathed in and made sure to exhale twice as long as the inhale lasted, trying to keep his rage and his worry under wraps. All he wanted was to reach out with his metal hand and crush the guys throat, dig his fingers in until skin and muscle gave, and then pull the flesh out the way he would cleaning a fish. Just pull the muscle and bone piece by piece while the guy choked to death on his own blood.

And then like someone had flicked a switch, the _bond_ roared back to life. It was dizzying, the emotions that swam from Steve, the knowledge of where he was, to a millimeter - the Tower, his own bedroom - and the shock that it was _back_. 

Over the line, someone cursed and fumbled with the phone.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice thrummed with anger, but Bucky could feel to the contrary: Steve was terrified. “Where the hell are you?”

Bucky’s hands were shaking. He clenched his free hand into a tight fist, trying to hide how stunned he was, how much it shook him, this sudden return of the bond that had been swamped and buried under buzzing static for days now. 

“Steve,” his voice was rough, throat tight, “I’m on my way back.”

“Liar,” Steve mumbled, but the heat was gone and the fear was lessening, “but you better be back soon. You’re going to explain to me in _detail_ why you tried to unbond us, but right now you’re going to tell me how the ba-”

“That’s enough,” the man said and Steve cried out in pain. The phone clattered again and Bucky bit the inside of his cheek hard enough he tasted blood on his tongue, keeping himself quiet, and not launching himself at the man to rip him apart with his bare hands. “Hang up.”

The bond was swaddled in static again, telling him nothing of Steve’s whereabouts or his state of mind. The last thing he felt from his mate was a burst of pain, and then nothing but this infernal, meaningless buzzing. Reluctantly, Bucky hung up on the open line. He made sure to raise his eyes and breathe slowly, methodically, until he was sure his thoughts wouldn’t be visible on his face. He would kill this man. Not now and not here, but one day. Bucky would track him down and rip his heart out while the guy watched.

“Good.” The fucker sipped from his drink and tossed the rest into the sink. “I think you can agree that’s enough proof, don’t you? Now, do we have a deal, Mr. Barnes?”

It was difficult to put his phone away into his pocket, but Bucky made sure not to crush it. He kept his mind ruthlessly focused on what he was doing, where he was right now, not letting himself think of what might be happening to Steve. What two-brain-whatevers that this asshole had caused could do.

“Yes,” Bucky confirmed; he had no choice.

“Great.” The fucker toasted Bucky with the empty glass in his hand, smiling charmingly. “You have forty-eight hours.”

Bucky clenched his teeth. There was barely any time to prepare and plan for what would probably be a brutal job. 

“Any other conditions?” 

“Proof of death. Irrefutable one.”

“Understood.”

“I’m glad.” The man smiled again. “Once you get rid of Stark, I will give you your second assignment.”

Fucking great. Bucky was clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He made a point of having his arms relaxed at his side, not letting the arm recalibrate or power up. He hoped he looked defeated, resigned to this new reality.

“How will I contact you?”

The man shook his head, smiling wryły.

“No need; I have eyes on you. I will contact you when it’s time.”

So there were moles in the Tower. High enough up to know the inner workings of the Avengers. 

“Out you go.” The man gestured toward the door. “You have plenty of work to do.”

Bucky cast a look at the body lying by their feet. He and Bruno might not have been friends, but the man deserved better than to be left like a piece of trash. Yet the man interrupted before he could decide what to do, how to give Bruno a proper burial, or… something.

“No need to worry, Reese will take care of that.”

Though he wanted to argue, Bucky nodded and moved towards the door. The whole time, his back itched like crazy; he hated showing it to the guy and his silent bodyguard. Yet, he didn’t let himself rush, or reach for his phone like he wanted. Instead he went to his bike, climbed on, and started it as if he had all the time in the world. His jaw ached and he could taste blood as he pulled into the slow traffic, not looking back.

At the nearest intersection, Bucky turned left and parked on the curb, not bothering to check if it was legal to do so. He fumbled out his phone and dialed Steve again as fast as his fingers could manage. 

“Come on, pick up. Pick up,” he murmured, as the phone took a ridiculously long time to connect. Then rang, and rang, and rang. The signals echoed dully in his mind as he waited for Steve to pick up. The bond was still just a mass of meaningless static, no information on if Steve was okay, if he wasn’t, if… 

Bucky took a breath. The static at least meant Steve was there, somewhere. 

“You’ve reached Steve Rogers, leave a message -”

Cursing, Bucky hung up and dialed the number Natasha had given him for emergencies. Her line, thankfully, picked up after a single ring.

“Go,” Natasha said cooly.

“Something’s wrong with Steve,” Bucky said in a rush. “Please, check on him.”

“Details?” Natasha asked, but Bucky could hear her moving now, footsteps and then the chime of an elevator. Efficient, and surprisingly trusting. She hadn’t hesitated a moment to ask _how_ he knew, or wasted time asking why he wasn’t checking on Steve himself.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said honestly. “He won’t pick up his phone. We were on the phone and then… and now he won’t pick up.”

“And then?” Natasha repeated. The elevator doors opened again in the background.

Bucky swallowed.

“He yelped.”

“I’ll be with him in thirty seconds. Report back when I can.”

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered, hating how weak he sounded.

“Bucky,” Natasha’s footsteps didn’t falter with her voice, “he’s gonna be fine. JARVIS is monitoring -”

“He turned it off.” Bucky closed his eyes. “He turned it off for me.”

Natasha’s hand knocked on a door and she called Steve’s name. Another knock, another call, and then Natasha said, “JARVIS, open this door. Barnes -”

“Yes, go.”

The click said she had obeyed, hanging up to handle whatever was on the other side of Steve’s closed door. 

Once again, Bucky placed his phone back into his pocket with utmost care. The bike, on the other hand, didn’t get the same treatment as he kicked it to life and sped toward the Tower. Steve would be fine, Natasha had said, but she didn’t know. No one knew, except the fucker blackmailing him, what kind of damage could be done to Steve’s brain by being turned on and off like that. Was he just unconscious? Or was he bleeding from his ears? Bucky didn’t know, and the longer he didn’t hear from Natasha, the greater his fear that the worst had occurred.

\------

Once he got to the tower, Bucky intended to head straight to the infirmary floor where they would have taken Steve. Only, the elevator didn’t let him off at the right floor. Bucky felt his heart slow, every emotion sinking deep as he let the cold out. The fact the elevator was not doing what he expected was raising the short hairs on his neck. It felt like danger. Like a trap. 

Bucky shifted, making sure the holster at his back was still secure, and flexed his forearms so that his muscles pressed against his knife sheath. It was an old habit, a subtle ways to check that his weapons were accessible. Facing the unexpected and knowing that his every move was observed and recorded, he needed that comfort, that security.

The doors opened on to Tony’s lab where Natasha and Tony were waiting. The former had her arms crossed as she leaned against a wall, deceptively relaxed. Tony wasn’t trying to pretend, pacing the short hall back and forth, a tablet in his hand. Even with Bucky standing there, he didn’t stop. No one else was present, though. No security, no guns aimed at him. Natasha wasn’t holding her weapons, but he didn’t think for a second she wasn’t armed. Tony didn't need to have anything on him, the whole Tower was his weapon, but he wasn’t in his suit which Bucky was certain he wouldn’t forget if he meant this to turn violent.

“What happened?” Tony asked and Bucky had to hold himself steady because they couldn’t _possibly_ know. “He remembered. He remembered, he called you, he collapsed, and he’s gone again. There’s nothing going on in his brain, that’s what all the doctors say, but he forgets, he remembers, none of it makes any damned sense, but he called you. No, sorry,” Tony stopped, held up a hand and twisted on his heel to face Bucky, “ _you_ called him. _Then_ he remembered. So,” he took a deep breath, “what happened?”

Bucky checked the room again, eyes sweeping the cluttered space. He didn't like that there was so much equipment here; robots and machines of which he didn’t know the purpose. The whole purpose of the scene at his informant’s bar was to make sure Bucky was aware there were eyes in the Tower, that the bastard who did this to Steve had constant access to him. Bucky couldn't do or say anything that would betray him, or Steve would pay the price. He didn't need more examples to know that. He relaxed his stance as much as he could, blanking his face. He wished he could act well enough to fool both Natasha and Tony, but he knew he was too disturbed, the aching emptiness where the bond had been pulsing like a lost limb. He couldn’t trust his control to play innocent, so instead he showed nothing. Stalling for some brilliant idea to get him out of this mess without frying Steve’s brain in the process.

“It’s just us, Barnes,” Tony said, interpreting part of Bucky’s hesitation correctly. “I need to know what happened.”

Tilting his head, Bucky realized the implications of Tony knowing what had happened in Steve’s room. Steve had turned off JARVIS for him. So, there was only one way Tony could have known that Steve remembered - his phone.

“You tapped Steve’s phone,” Bucky murmured.

“What?” Tony looked insulted. “No I didn’t. The fuck, Barnes? JARVIS played back the audio. I know what Steve said and I know you called him right before this… glitch in his brain, or whatever the hell it was, happened.” Tony threw out his arms. “You have any idea how many times I’ve gone over his his brain scans? I got no idea what the fuck is happening to him. None. But I know there’s no way it’s a coincidence this happens right after you call. So…” he rolled his hand forward, “spill. What happened?”

Bucky watched Natasha from the corner of his eye. Out of the two, she was the more immediate threat. She hadn’t moved the entire time, her posture hunched. She gave the impression of being cut off from the situation, but Bucky knew better. Her black slacks were tailored, which meant she could be packing a holster and it wouldn't be visible, and her jacket helped hide an underarm holster and any other weaponry up her sleeves. The way she kept her arms crossed meant she could draw in a fraction of a second. To be safe, Bucky shifted so more of his left side was turned toward her. 

“Haven’t seen you this keyed up in a while, Barnes,” Natasha said when Bucky remained silent. 

Agitated more than Bucky could remember seeing him, Tony flapped the tablet at Bucky.

“So?! What _happened_?”

Bucky turned his attention to Tony. He was asking the correct questions, putting the puzzle pieces together at a frightening speed, dark eyes hiding his thoughts better than Natasha. Sometimes, Bucky thought it wasn’t that Tony was good at deception, but that he faster than his face could express anything.

Still, Tony was _asking_. Bucky hadn’t expect to be asked, not when they’d brought him here without a word. He had expected a trap. At most, he expected pressure. Not this… asking.

“I called him,” Bucky confirmed, still stalling, trying to assess the situation. There was only Tony and Natasha here… but that wasn’t true, was it? There was also JARVIS, who saw all and heard all. JARVIS, who recorded all. Nothing was as simple as it looked in this Tower. It was like a nicer, more tricked-out version of his cell on the Raft and with Hydra. Eyes on him twenty-four/seven, hounding his every move. He had been lured into a sense of security in his and Steve’s flat where there wasn’t any surveillance equipment. It was jarring, how comfortable he had become, and how fast he had forgotten the implications of such a widespread network.

“ _And_?” Tony demanded impatiently.

Natasha straightened, probably reading the increasing tension in his body language. It took a conscious effort to relax. Tony hadn’t seen it, or pretended obliviousness. It was hard to tell.

“When he remembered, the bond came back to life.” 

Bucky was still unsure if he could trust that they were truly and completely safe. Somebody had enough access to the Tower, to Steve, to be able to affect him with whatever it was that took his memories. It could be a human, or a device. Hell, somebody could have hacked JARVIS for all he knew. He could open his mouth now and have Steve’s brain fried to goop in the next second.

“Jesus fuck, _duh_ ,” Tony snapped. Then he covered his face with his hand, likely smacking himself with the tablet. Then he took a deep breath, raised his hands in the air in a circle, and exhaled loud and long. “Will this be easier if I ask for a mission report?”

Nostrils flaring, hot rage burned under Bucky’s skin like a living being. How dare he ask that? Presume to treat Bucky like a handler? Like he can’t make any decisions on his own? 

Bucky swallowed his instinctive rage, the anger that rose up whenever he heard anything close to an order. Tony didn't deserve it. The anger, old, bitter, ever-present was what Bucky knew best. It was his strength, his way to survive. But Tony wasn’t a threat, hadn’t been one in a while. Bucky knew that. He might act as if he hated Tony, but it wasn't true. Even before he’d had to jump into a goddam helicopter to get Tony back to where he belonged, he had admitted to himself that Tony cared. About Steve, about the people making up the Avengers team, even about Bucky. 

There weren’t that many people who gave a damn about Bucky, none for decades before Steve and his insane band of heroes came along to drag him into a nightmare. It was disrespectful to lump Tony in with the human waste that was Hydra. As much as he hated to admit he was wrong, his long-held distrust towards Tony was undeserved at best. He did his best to do right by Steve and, in extension, Bucky. He hadn’t had to compromise his security, but he had. He could have made Bucky’s life a lot harder in the Tower, but he didn’t. The only time he’d ordered Bucky around was when Bucky had needed it the most. If Tony hadn’t, when he was reeling from the bond severing, in so much pain he thought he would go insane, he would have shattered then and there. Tony wasn’t a friend, but he _could_ be. 

It was a shocking realisation, that their relationship was _also_ up to him. And, in that moment, Bucky wanted to tell Tony what had happened in the bar. He wanted to. It was shocking enough that he blinked, rage gone as if it had never occurred.

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” Tony said slowly while taking a step back from Bucky. 

“No orders today, Tony,” Bucky said roughly. He was out of sorts enough he didn’t want a trigger to break his control again.

“It… was a question, but… okay,” Tony held up his palms placatingly, “No orders.”

Natasha was watching him more intently. 

“Did you get orders today?” she murmured quietly.

Bucky tried to convince himself that the decision he wanted to make was correct one.

“JARVIS?” he asked, heart pounding. He was about to risk Steve’s life, definitely his mind. It terrified him that he could be making a mistake, the one wrong decision that would take Steve from him forever. He wasn’t used to being responsible for anybody but himself, and even that was a still new.

Tony sighed.

“I already told you Barnes. Just you, me, and the Spy Queen here.”

Bucky licked his lips again, deciding to trust Tony and Natasha. If he was wrong, he was damning Steve, but he thought he was right. He _hoped_ he was right.

“It was proof,” Bucky said slowly, “to show me they weren’t joking.”

Tony’s dark eyes went bright and he turned sharply away again, pacing and mumbling to himself. Though she shot Tony a glance, Natasha straightened and dropped her arms to her sides.

“Do you know who they were?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Definitely powerful; enough to have eyes in Avengers Tower.”

“In?” Natasha repeated, but it was rhetorical. “Tony -”

“JARVIS isn’t compromised,” Tony interrupted the question before she could state it.

“They knew exactly what was going on with Steve, down to where he was and what state he was in.” The bastard had pressed him to call Steve, wanted it. “They knew Steve was able to take the call and they wouldn't want to make the show public, so they knew he was alone.” 

It would have been too suspicious if anybody saw Steve regain his memories just when he was talking to Bucky, then lose them again. The Tower was already on high alert, but if that scene was happening where Tony could see, Bucky was sure Tony would have reacted immediately. Bucky hadn’t known Tony all that long, but even he admitted that Tony with full access to technology was a powerful enemy.

Tony flapped a hand dismissively.

“You know how many status reports we have to give on Captain America after he has a full breakdown like this? Everyone and their sister would know that, and that you have him holed up in his room. That’s not important.” Bucky opened his mouth, but Tony didn’t even pause for breath he was talking so fast. “What’s important is if they can turn it off, _I_ can turn it off. It’s not biological. It’s _triggered_...” 

As Tony trailed off into mumbling again, Bucky remembered how specific the guy had been with his knowledge. He wasn’t just somebody hearing general snippets of information from a low-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. informant. More importantly, they had tracked down Bucky’s contacts, found him, _trapped_ him. Not just anyone could do that.

“Spit it out, Barnes,” Natasha said, flagrantly ignoring his request for no orders, “We did ask you to tell us, so tell us everything.”

“They set a trap for me. One of my contacts, the one I was especially careful about because of his value. They had him contact me, then killed him.” Bucky pulled his cracked phone from his pocket. When he touched the screen, it lit up, showing a picture of a dark-haired woman and toddler. “They were very specific. Knew exactly what was going on with Steve. Forced me to contact him just to show me what they could do to him.”

Frowning, Natasha nodded.

“Someone with power, I agree,” Natasha tilted her head towards Tony, who didn’t seem to be listening to them any more, “but Tony is right that too many people know about Steve’s status. I’ll get people on finding the mole, but I’m more concerned with why they would go to such lengths for you.”

Instead of answering, Bucky asked, “If you had to guess who could inspire this level of twisted planning in our little group, who would you choose?”

Natasha looked at him, then to Tony, and back at him. Her eyebrows rose, but she wasn’t surprised.

“Don’t be stupid,” Tony said, “I don’t plan anything. That’s Steve’s department.”

“We don’t mean you,” Natasha said slowly. “You ever catch any leads on the Manchurian?”

For a solid second, Tony froze with his foot in the air. Then he shook his head and kept pacing.

“No, he would have gone for Pepper, not me and Steve.” Tony slashed his hand in the air. “Besides, there’s no point in this attack if it’s aimed at me. Steve is my pack leader, okay, but taking out me _and_ him and _then_ going for the artifacts?” He shook his head. “There’s not enough gloating, not enough attacking Pepper.”

Bucky frowned, but he wasn’t convinced. The fact of the matter was they didn’t know anything about this guy, or who he was targeting. Was it Steve? Bucky? Tony? The Avengers as a whole? 

“What was the goal of getting you to listen?” Natasha asked, coming closer. “Because that’s why they did this to Steve. To make you listen. To give you orders. That’s why you almost took Tony’s head off about the mission report.” Bucky froze, but Natasha was talking to herself more than him, every word bringing her closer to the right deduction. “They gave you a mission.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Bucky nodded.

Tony turned to Bucky.

“Mission? What mission?”

Bucky kept his eyes on Natasha. Her green gaze was focused and cold; he liked that.

“First mission is to kill Tony within forty-eight hours.”

Though Tony squawked, Natasha asked calmly, “And the second?”

“Don’t know yet. I’ll get details after I deliver proof of death,”

“And if you refuse, they turn off Steve’s brain for good.”

Tony winced, then thrust a finger into the air, “Not if I don’t turn it off first!” Both Natasha and Bucky looked at Tony slowly and he quickly said, “That didn’t come out right.”

“No,” Bucky growled dangerously.

“Let’s try again.” Tony cleared his throat. “I need Steve’s brain.”

“No,” Natasha growled this time.

Exasperated, Tony threw up his hands.

“It can still be attached!”


	13. Chapter 13

Steve had woken in the hospital wing. The doctors said he’d collapsed on his floor. Natasha said she had found him unconscious. Steve didn’t remember any of it. All he remembered was picking up his phone, and then this. It was, admittedly, a little weird, but he felt fine. Perfectly fine. There had been no need for all the hovering, or the multitude of tests, or stabbing him with so many damned needles again and again.

The doctors had told Natasha they couldn’t find anything. Apparently no one knew Steve could read lips. Well, Steve hadn’t known that either, so it served them right because they didn’t tell _him_ that. Just Natasha, Natasha who was Natasha hovering over him with too-serious eyes. She had only asked how he was feeling once when he’d woken up. Then she’d gotten the doctor’s information and disappeared.

Tony and Michael and Sam had shown up then with worried eyes. Tony and Sam had eventually left, but they’d all repeatedly asked the same question. He was fine, he told them. He felt _fine_. Nothing hurt. He didn’t need to be in the hospital at all. Especially since the doctors didn’t have any answers to what had happened. It was nice, at first, to be asked how he was doing. They hadn’t done that the first time, but it was getting taxing now. They wouldn’t even let him call Bucky, who he hadn’t seen at all, or heard from. If he’d been on the phone with Bucky, why hadn’t he come? Why hadn’t anyone called him to tell him Steve had collapsed?

Biting back a growl as a nurse took yet _another_ sample of his blood, Steve considered that Bucky knew and had just not come. It made everything that much worse. The stupid gown they had him in itched, and who had stripped him anyways? He sure as hell hadn’t given permission to be stripped. And it was a head injury. No one needed him naked for a damned head injury.

“You sure you got enough?” Steve asked a little testily. It was the third time they had taken his blood in the last forty minutes. One would think the doctors could take more at one go, not come back to keep poking him. Maybe he should suggest a jar. Maybe a bucket. They’d have all they needed and he could just leave.

“Just one more minute, Captain,” the nurse said politely, “then we’ll get you to the MRI.”

Steve closed his eyes. He hated the MRI. It was loud and the contrast made him want to pee, but they never let him. Not until his bladder felt like it would burst. Stupid MRI machine never told them anything anyways. 

“Can I please just go home?” Steve asked. He was pretty sure he had asked every ten minutes and he really didn’t care. All he wanted was to not be _here_ and his apartment sounded nice for once.

“Hold on, Steve,” Michael murmured from where he was leaning against the bed opposite the nurse. “I know this sucks, but after the tests I promise to cook you something extra tasty.” He raised three fingers. “Scouts honor.”

“Steak?” Steve asked probingly, eyeing Michael without turning his head. “Potatoes?”  
“As bloody or done as your carnivorous heart may desire.”

What Steve’s heart desired was his mate, but thinking about Bucky was only making him more agitated. The machine reading his heart-rate beeped a little faster and he side-eyed it, tempted to squish the thing. The beeping was as annoying as being stabbed every fifteen minutes.

“You’ll eat with me?”

Michael smiled, something soft shining in his eyes before he smiled wryly. 

“Why is it that it’s only the unavailable ones that are so eager to dine with me?” Looking mournful, Michael pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m a goddamn god in the kitchen. Why can't anybody see it?”

“If Bucky has his way, I won’t be taken much longer,” Steve mumbled, then added louder, “Natasha can see it.”

Michael’s lips twisted to form an upside-down smile. 

“Natasha has a great appetite,” he said slowly, shaking his head slowly, his curly blond hair waving with movement, “but I don't think she possesses a single taste bud. Or, if she does, she doesn't know how to use it.” He spread his hands, horror in his eyes. “She can eat McDonalds and look as pleased as when she’s eating a feast I cooked for her. _McDonald’s_ , Steve.” 

Steve had to fight a snort at the genuine horror in Michael’s face. 

“Well, just come cook for me more. Make the lady jealous.”

Looking as dejected as a human being possibly could, Michael’s shoulders slumped, expressing his disappointment with his entire skinny frame.

“One, it’s just not the same,” he complained. “Two, I’d be courting skinning at the hands of your jealous mate.”

Whatever good humor Steve had accumulated by talking to Michael, evaporated instantly.

“You telling me I can’t have friends?” Michael opened his mouth, but Steve was so _done_ with everyone. “I gotta sit here, I gotta be stabbed over and over, and then I gotta go home and eat _alone_? Again?”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way, Steve,” Michael pitched his voice low, gentle, which was so _weird_ for an Alpha it irritated Steve all the more.

“Right, because it’s not true.”

 

“That is… not the point.”

Steve was too busy staring down Michael to realise the door had opened, until he heard a slow exhale that definitely wasn’t Michael’s. Even as he was turning his head, he recognized the sound and knew who it belonged to: Bucky. _Finally_.

Bucky was standing in the doorway, staring at Steve as if he were a ghost. The expression in his eyes was one that Steve didn't like. A longing that he could tell wasn't for him; it was for the previous him. The vulnerability of it, rare and unexpected, wasn't helping matters. Steve couldn’t remember Bucky this open, and he was intensely jealous. It wasn’t fair. 

Gathering himself, Bucky hid his emotions away. He did not become cold, though, but worried. Concerned for the body Steve was in, and whatever damage he had suffered. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Steve said, not hiding they had been talking about Bucky at all.

Bucky blinked, and against all odds, smiled. It was a little crooked, one corner of his mouth pulling higher than the other, but, most importantly, it reached his eyes. They crinkled at the corners.

Bowing at the waist, Bucky said, “Thank you.”

“That’s not what I expected you to say,” Steve blurted. 

Bucky blinked again, but the surprise was clearly exaggerated.

“You complimented me.” Bucky stepped deeper into the room, his substantial shoes somehow soundless on the tiles. “I thought it was good form to acknowledge that.”

Irritated, Steve half-glared at Bucky.

“I called you the Devil. That’s not a compliment.”

“Oh boy,” Michael muttered and Steve didn’t have to look to see him roll his eyes.

Bucky sighed dreamily, a pleased tilt to his lips .

“One always likes to be appreciated for his professional success.”

Blankly, Steve stared at Bucky, and then crossed his arms.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bucky stopped beside Steve’s bed, his eyes flicking over the multitude of equipment stuffed into the room, most of which was attached to Steve in one way or another.

“And here I thought you were being a sweet-talker,” Bucky said mournfully.

“I don’t…” Steve narrowed his eyes, then turned on Michael. “The hell is he on about?”

Michael raised his hands in a warding gesture.

“Oh no, don't drag me into your bedroom games.” Steve raised an eyebrow; he liked the sound of that. “That’s too much even for me.”

Turning to Bucky, he looked at him again, then rolled his eyes. Yeah, bedroom games weren’t likely on the table, but…

“I want to go home,” he told Bucky. After all, the guy had gotten him out of here last time. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“He’s been saying that every five fucking minutes,” Michael complained.

“Well,” Steve drawled, “I want to go home.”

“Sure,” Bucky said pleasantly, and Steve swiveled his head towards him, his hopes rising, “as soon as the tests are done.”

Steve groaned, his hopes dashed, and covered his face with his hands.

“Why does it matter if I’m here when the results come back, or upstairs? I like it upstairs.” The pillow that smelled like Bucky was upstairs.

Bucky leaned his hip against Steve’s bed, so close Steve could almost touch the edge of his jacket. He didn’t, though. After their last talk, he didn’t want to push, and he wasn’t willing to beg for contact at the moment.

“I like you not leaking your brain through your ears.” Bucky’s hand extended, his finger touching the dried blood on his neck. The touch was light, there and gone in an instant, but goosebumps raced all down Steve’s back and it took effort to keep his eyes from closing. He was mad, damn it.

“That’s blood, not my brain,” Steve mumbled, then cleared his throat and said louder. “And I hit my head; it’s already healed. No damage.”

Bucky’s eyes turned frigid, like a winter’s sky, before that too was pushed down. Whatever it meant, Steve hadn’t a clue, but he hated it. Why couldn’t Bucky just _be_ with him? Because he wasn’t who he had been, Steve guessed.

“A hit hard enough to make you bleed like this would be enough to kill a normal person.” 

“I ain’t normal,” Steve snapped, pissed off by Bucky’s mild tone. He didn't need to be _handled_. “I read my file. I’ve been hit in the head a lot and I’m _fine_.”

Bucky blinked slowly. Despite his anger, Steve couldn't stop from staring at the thick curtain of lashes framing Bucky’s eyes. They were pretty; any woman would be jealous. 

“You call this okay?” Bucky made a gesture to indicate the various and mysterious equipment scattered around the room.

“No,” Steve growled, “I call this normal. No one knows what’s wrong with me. They’re running the same tests as last time that told them nothing, and they’ll tell them nothing this time, because no one _knows_ what’s wrong with me.”

“So let them do the tests.” Bucky was close enough now that Steve could smell his aftershave. It was a subtle scent, and Steve longed to press his nose into Bucky’s neck to get more of it. He couldn’t, could only breathe from a distance, and be teased by what he couldn’t have.

 

“I did. Now I wanna go home.”

One gloved hand pressed against the bed to help Bucky keep his balance as he leaned closer to Steve.

“You will soon enough.” 

“Not soon enough,” Steve grumbled, trying to ignore how goddamn enticing Bucky was, how close he was, and how good he smelled.

Bucky smirked and moved away from the bed. Away, and Steve hated it, wanted to protest. But Bucky wasn’t here for him, he was here for the other Steve. At least, Steve thought, he wasn’t leaving. Bucky headed for the second visitor's chair, next to Michael’s. 

“I think I’m going to hang out here for a while,” Bucky announced, sprawling in the chair. He stretched his legs as far in front of him as he could, slid down until his ass was barely on the seat, and folded his hands on his belly. He rested his head against the back of the chair, half lidded eyes fixed on Steve. “I don’t feel like going anywhere.”

“Run out of people to punch?” 

Steve knew he was grumbling, complaining, and really couldn’t help himself. He hated it here and he hated how far Bucky was away and he hated that Bucky wasn’t even here for him.

For a second, Bucky looked almost pained. Then the expression was gone, the mild one back.   
“The list got longer. I just can’t do it right now.”

Once again, Steve hadn’t a clue what that meant. Would the old him have known? Probably; that was why Bucky wanted him back.

Shifting in irritation, Steve snapped. “Don’t need a babysitter.”

Michael snorted, or choked, as he tried to force the sound down, and failed miserably. Steve turned his glare on him as Bucky chuckled.

“Actually, you need less looking after than ever before.” 

Wary at what sounded like a comparison to his old self that he came out on top of, Steve looked to Bucky. His expression continued to give nothing away, just looking back at Steve calmly. Still, Steve didn’t trust it. Bucky’d never liked this version of him better.

“Probably because I stay in my room like a good little soldier.” 

“No,” Bucky disagreed, “it’s because you are free enough to complain. To disagree.” He tilted his head, gaze steady. “I bet you would be extremely ruthless in a fight.”

“And you like that?” Steve asked tentatively.

Bucky was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Yes.”

Steve was still trying to figure out what the hell Bucky meant by that, why he’d like it, when Michael sighed. It was a gentle sound, not exasperated, or put-upon, catching Steve’s attention.

“Is it surprising?” Michael asked. “Look at him. He’s the most dominating Omega I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“Of course he is,” Steve huffed, “He’s mine.” 

Michael smiled like a proud parent, but it was Bucky reaction that mattered. Bucky’’s eyes grew dark, his body making it clear that Steve’s response had been . It had pleased him; surprised him, but in a good way. There was heat in Bucky’s eyes now, and Steve couldn’t convince himself was for anyone else but him, as he was now.

“But,” Michael stressed, “he’s still an Omega, whether he likes it or not. That comes with being attracted to certain traits. He's a badass,” Michael swept his hands toward Bucky, as if presenting him at a show. “And he likes you being even more a badass than him.”

Though he expected Bucky to protest anyone being more ‘badass’ than he was, Bucky didn’t. Just sat there, that irritatingly calm look, watching Steve. Before Steve could respond, Michael climbed out of his chair, clapped Bucky on the shoulder and walked to the door to Steve’s hospital room. The word _prison_ seemed to set everyone off, so he was trying to avoid it, even if it still felt that way. 

“I’m going to leave you two to it.” Steve was envious that Michael could just touch Bucky and not get growled at. “Behave. As in, don’t try to murder each other? Natasha will be really pissed off if you do and I’ve left.”

“Don’t think that’s up to me.” Steve looked to Bucky and raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to behave?”

“No.” 

Bucky got up in one of those smooth movements that was nearly unreal, like Bucky wasn’t human. Silent despite his combat boots, he moved to Steve’s bed. Steve watched him warily as he braced his knee against the side of the bed and swung himself over Steve’s hips. Bucky’s knees pressed tightly against Steve’s sides, as Bucky settled his full weight confidently in place.

“We’re not?” Steve asked hoarsely, enjoying the way Bucky’s soft hair framed his face as he looked down at Steve.

“Aaand that’s my cue to leave,” Michael said, but Steve really wasn’t paying attention. Bucky was still fully dressed, his leather jacket zipped up to his neck. Steve couldn’t imagine it being comfortable, though he disliked it because it also hid most of Bucky's torso from view. There was leather and zippers everywhere - even his hands were encased in gloves - no skin visible anywhere but his face. 

Bucky leaned lower, left arm bracing against the thin hospital pillow beside Steve’s head.

“Generally, I am against ‘behaving’,” Bucky murmured his eyes sliding to Steve’s lips. 

“I think I’m okay with that,” Steve muttered. This close, he could smell the faint scent of Bucky’s shampoo, the thick smell of leather, and under that a faint whiff of gunpowder. It was intoxicating.

“Stop talking,” Bucky demanded, leaning closer, mere inches from Steve’s lips. Then he crossed that distance, kissing Steve. The touch wasn’t hesitant or gentle, but a firm, slow caress that had Steve’s heart skipping a beat. Surprised as he was, Steve didn’t hesitate to lean into it and slide one hand under Bucky’s soft, warm hair so could cup his hand at the base of Bucky’s skull to pull him deeper into the kiss. 

It was wonderful, but it wasn’t quite enough. Sliding his other hand to the cuff of Bucky’s jacket, he wormed his fingers underneath so he could feel the delicate skin at the inside of Bucky’s wrist and the strong pulse beneath his skin. Groaning, Bucky pushed his tongue into Steve’s mouth, twining their tongues together. Bucky tasted like fruit and a rich, heady coffee that Steve remembered from their last kiss. It was addicting, that taste, and Steve melted into the hospital mattress, pulling Bucky along with him, their fingers tangled in each other’s hair. 

To stay like that forever would have been Steve’s idea of heaven, but a female voice cleared her throat and Bucky sat back.

“We need another sample, Captain Rogers,” a nurse - his nurse, Steve suspected, but he couldn’t place her face - said, a blush on her dark skin. 

Sighing, but happier now than he’d been for the past hour, Steve held out his arm and didn’t even complain as she poked him with yet another needle, filled her two vials - the liar - and then practically ran for the door.

“I have two questions,” Steve murmured once his door shut, looking up to where Bucky was still perched on his hips, knees squeezing as if he was riding a nervous horse. That he hadn’t moved, even for the nurse, made Steve want to apologize for every uncharitable thought about his mate he’d had all day.

“Yes?”

Steve slid his fingers carefully back under Bucky’s sleeve.

“I forgot the first question.”

Bucky laughed. They were so close, he could feel the rush of breath on his face. It should have been gross; it wasn’t. He sighed, deep and content, and probably looked like an idiot while doing it. He didn’t care. 

“The second question?”

“Right.” 

Steve reached up with his other hand, carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair and nearly losing the second question as well when Bucky leaned into his touch. Bucky wasn’t making it easier, tightening his grip on Steve’s sides so his brain descended into the gutter and he had to yank it back. 

“Why’d you kiss me?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“But I’m not him,” Steve had to point out. “I’m not your mate.”

Letting out a little growling sound, Bucky straightened so his weight pressed against Steve’s groin none too gently and he grunted.

“I’m not the one that forgets things.”

Steve huffed.

“No, you just dodge questions and statements like an acrobat.”

A small smile flitted over Bucky’s lips. For whatever reason, Steve’s grumpiness only amused Bucky.

“I know who you are,” Bucky assured, shifting uncomfortably so Steve hissed out a breath. Goddamn it, those were sensitive bits Bucky was sitting on. “I know who I was kissing.”

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Obviously. Thus my point, thus my statement, thus my question. All of which I imagine you know.” Bucky started to shift again and Steve grabbed his hips, lifting him up higher. “So answer the question. Why?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side, his soft hair brushing his shoulder. It made Steve itch with the urge to touch again, but Bucky would probably crush his junk some more if he let go. 

“I’m glad you didn’t die.”

“Me?” Steve repeated, because Bucky had made it quite clear he wasn’t kissing the man he’d been. The kiss was _his_. Not nostalgia, or longing, but affection for _him_.

“Yes.”

Biting his lip, Steve carefully set Bucky down on his hips as a show of trust and murmured, “Thank you.”

Bucky smirked.

“You are hot; it’s not like it’s a hardship.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” Steve laughed, purposely keeping his hands on Bucky’s hips, no matter how much he wanted to touch him more. “And I’m glad you came. It’s… easier when you’re with me.”

“I wouldn’t have left you alone when you are hurt,” Bucky said fiercely, perhaps suspecting Steve’s thoughts from before he’d arrived. Not wanting to confess to those, Steve offered a similar truth. 

“I don’t mean just this. Everything is easier when you’re with me. I… hate it when you go.”

Bucky’s face softened. Not much, but enough for Steve to notice. 

“I dislike seeing you in pain.”

“Ain’t in pain now.”

“Yes you are.”

“Think I’d know.”

Bucky blinked at him slowly. 

“If you want to play it that way.”

Flexing his hands, Steve held in his frustration. He wasn’t in pain, but then again, he wasn’t sure they meant the same thing by ‘pain’.

“How am I in pain, then?”

Bucky exhaled, sounding as frustrated as Steve felt.

“This situation is causing you pain.”

“Situation?” Steve repeated, frowning even as he tentatively let his hands slip beneath Bucky’s jacket. It was just an inch higher, above his pants instead of on them. “My memory? Bucky, it’s not the _situation_ that’s hurting me.”

Growling, Bucky straightening; pulling away even if it wasn’t with his body. It made Steve’s chest ache and he closed his eyes, dropping his hands back to the bed. Whatever had just happened between them, it was over. Bucky’s walls had returned.

“Fine.” Bucky took some of his weight off of Steve. “Blame me if you want.”

“That is _not_ what I meant.” Steve kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the mask that was back. “Or maybe it was, I don’t know. I was trying to say I don’t care about whether I remember or not.”

“I wasn’t talking about your lacking your memories,” Bucky said with that edge of growl, “but about the hurt the lack of them has caused. And if you think you can lie to me about how you don't care you don’t remember, don’t. Humans are predictable. No matter what the memories, the moment we lose them we would give anything to get them back.”

The anger came back in a rush. Steve shifted, abruptly disliking Bucky’s weight as much as he had craved it moments ago. If he didn’t remember how well pushing Bucky around had gone last time, he’d have knocked Bucky off. Bucky seemed to catch onto him, or maybe he just felt the same as Steve about contact, and lifted up, sliding down from the bed abruptly.

“I’m not lying,” Steve said, looking up to watch Bucky pulling off his gloves and stuffing them into his pockets. Then he unzipped the jacket angrily, the sound of the zipper slashing through the air. “I don’t care. I’m _fine_. Would it be nice to remember how to fix all this shit? To know how to handle you so you actually like me? Yeah, but that’s _not my problem_ , Bucky. It’s yours and Tony’s and everyone else. Might have wanted it before; not now.”

“Sure, Steve,” Bucky shrugged the jacket off, revealing a gun holster under his arm. Was Bucky ever not armed to the teeth? “Whatever you say.”

“Ah, yes, and you don’t listen to me again. You know,” Steve sat up straighter, debating on just leaving whether anyone liked it or not, “as much as I hate being alone, I like this a hell of a lot less.”

Bucky’s arm froze halfway through tossing his jacket to the chair he’d vacated earlier. A second later, he resumed, throwing the garment over the back. Making himself at home when Steve had all but told him to get out.

Bucky’s voice was even, almost pleasant - another mask - as he said, “If that’s your choice, I won't raise the subject again.” 

“What choice?” As usual, Steve didn’t know what Bucky was talking about. “What subject? My memory, me lying, you listening to me? We’ve touched on a lot of things.”

“You are peachy fine as you are now and all problems are my problems,” Bucky said, his voice slow and measured, “I do hear you Steve.” 

“No,” Steve said coldly, swinging his legs over the bed. Something yanked out of his arm, stinging as it went. “You hear what you want to hear. _That’s_ my problem. Everything is my problem except my lack of memories. This, these fucking doctors,” Steve tore another lead off himself and a machine started to shriek. “I can’t even sit with you, enjoy a moment, because when all I want is to tell you how I feel, I can’t. I can’t say it; you don’t want to hear it.” 

“I want to hear it,” Bucky said quietly. He shifted, uncomfortable enough Steve paused his attempts at freeing himself from the machinery to eye him. Yet there was nothing. Bucky was silent, standing there, and Steve thought for sure they were done. Fucked beyond all reason, and he reached for a tube, or whatever it was, attached to his chest.

“This is not what I intended coming here,” Bucky said suddenly. “I didn’t intend to…” He hesitated, obviously looking for words and not finding them. “To lead to this.”

“You called me a liar,” Steve said, his anger a living creature just under his skin.

Bucky met Steve’s gaze, having avoided it as Steve tore apart his little bed. The machine was still screaming, but no one had come in. The raised voices had probably put them off, which was good. He doubted roaring at some nurse would make either of them feel better.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“But you _said_ it.”

Bucky lowered his eyes.

“I’m sorry. We were fighting and I guess I wanted to win the fight. I don’t like talking. I’m not good at this.”

Moving slowly, afraid Bucky might change his mind, Steve set his feet on the floor and stood. The thing on his chest pulled away, but Steve didn’t care any more. This was what he’d asked for, just the day before: for Bucky to try. For him, not for who he’d been.

“Let me touch you,” Steve asked, coaching his voice quiet and low. “I want to hold you.”

Bucky looked up, watching Steve as if weighing their chances of going for each other’s throats if they actually touched. To be fair, their track record wasn’t all that great.

“I already gave you permission,” Bucky huffed, standing to face Steve.

When that had happened, Steve hadn’t a clue, but he definitely knew it now. Stepping forward, still keeping his movements easy, he wrapped his arms around Bucky - shoulders and waist - and pulled him close.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, too. I didn’t mean to.”

Bucky didn’t relax into him right away. Instead, it was a slow sequence of muscles as he slowly, painfully, fit himself to Steve. He was hot and solid against Steve, strangely perfect for his imposing size. It was the first time he’d felt anything like fragile, tucked as he was in Steve’s arms. Like he might actually break, not hold steady like the rock he tried to appear as.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again. “I think… I think I need to start over, with us. You were so good to me today, and I’m still all messed up from the last week.”

“I don’t really care about you acting like you used to, having your memories and all,” Bucky said quietly, not looking at Steve, his face tucked against his collarbone. When he spoke again, his words were even softer, “But without the memories, the bond won’t come back.”

“You miss it?” Steve asked, bringing his hand from Bucky’s waist to trail through his hair.

“It was the only bond I ever chose. They only one I wanted.”

Steve sighed, tightening his arms around Bucky.

“Okay. I’ll sit back down and let them do their tests.”

Bucky caught his arm, his metal fingers closing tightly on Steve’s elbow.

“If I was sure it wouldn't kill you,” Bucky said in that same almost whisper, “I would have let you leave.”

Carefully, Steve swallowed down his fear. Why would leaving kill him? He didn’t know, but it was a question that could wait. Bucky vulnerable and sweet like this was too rare to ignore.

“Why?”

“I would rather you were free, somewhere else, than as unhappy as you seem here.”

“Hey,” Steve murmured, taking Bucky’s chin and tipping his face up, “if I’d left? I would have come back.” Bucky smiled, a barely-there grin. Steve could tell he wasn’t completely convinced, and Steve shook his head. “Bucky, didn’t I tell you? You’re all I’m sure of. This whole world - out there, in here - I’m sure of you.” Teasingly, he added, “Even when you’re calling me a liar,” then more seriously, “or when my feelings are hurt. I’m not mad about any of that, never was; I just wanted you to listen.”

“We always spoke different languages,” Bucky said, the corner of his lips tugging up and this time sticking. “I can listen, but I can't promise I will hear what you want me to.”

“You tried, like I asked,” Steve murmured, skimming his fingers down Bucky’s jaw, then sliding them through the hair at the base of his neck. Bucky shivered and Steve grinned slowly. Then he paused, kissed Bucky on the forehead, and said, “Now tell me what you meant by leaving will ‘kill me?’” Steve narrowed his eyes. “The doctors say I’m the picture of health.” Bucky’s expression changed to that of a deer caught in headlights. “What do you know that you are not telling me?”

Steve had the dubious pleasure of watching an ‘oh shit’ look replace the ‘deer in headlights’.

“Uh...”

Steve's heart raced.

“You going to tell me?” he asked as calmly as he could.

Bucky’s expression changed quickly, but Steve didn't know it. He simply didn't know enough of Bucky’s expressions yet. That was probably the only thing he regretted about not having his memories. He thought he could just learn them again, but if Bucky needed their bond, Steve would find a way to get it back.

“Okay,” Bucky said finally and Steve let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to be kept in the dark anymore. “Sit down. It's a long story.”


	14. Chapter 14

Considering Tony paid these doctors a hefty salary for minimal work, it was remarkably difficult to convince one to perform a spinal tap on Captain America. Tony wasn’t sure if that was because it was Captain America, or because they were terrified of Captain America’s mate, or because he’d hired the best goddamn doctors and they just had to know everything. That was Tony’s job and he didn’t even get paid for it. Once he’d gone into excruciating detail on his theory, he had finally convinced one doctor to agree to the procedure. 

The only problem was no one wanted to go into Captain America’s room.

“Why?” Tony asked the nurse with pink scrubs and blonde highlights. “Is it Skywalker? Or did Cap go all Alpha-rawr on you again?”

“No,” the nurse said slowly as a blush started creeping up her neck. Huh, interesting. “I just don’t think it wise to disturb them, Mr. Stark.”

“There was some yelling,” Jackie, the head nurse with incredible cornrows that hung down to her ass, said without looking up from her tablet, “but Janine thinks they’re having sex.”

“Oh.” 

Tony looked from Janine, to Jackie, to the door and back again. On the one hand, he didn’t want to see Barnes’ ass. On the other, he didn’t want Barnes to take his head off for seeing Cap’s ass. On the third - okay, so this metaphor wasn’t quite working - he really needed that sample.

Who was he kidding, science always came first.

Marching to the door, Tony knocked hard and stuck his head inside just in time to watch the pair of angsty men spring apart like oil and water. It wasn’t quite fast enough for Tony to not get a nice view of Steve’s bare ass, but he was smart enough not to stare or comment, even if the magic of backless hospital gowns made him grin. Barnes had been nice-ish lately, and he wasn’t about to push his luck, not when he wanted to stick a giant needle in Steve’s back.

“What?” Barnes barked.

“One sec.”

Tony ducked back into the hallway, grabbed the needle in question from the tray the doctor was wheeling around, and shoved the door open. Steve was already climbing back into his bed, but froze the moment his eyes landed on the object in Tony’s hands. Even wrapped in plastic, it was obviously a huge needle.

“No.” Steve looked pleadingly at Barnes, and Tony actually felt bad. A little. “Bucky, no.”

Bucky didn’t look all that hot as he switched his gaze from the huge ass-needle to Steve and then back to Steve.

“Sorry, Steve,” Bucky said, cringing, “Tony explained it to me, a bit. He might be on to something.”

Though he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, Steve just nodded. It was a bit of a surprise and the main reason he’d been the first one through the door. Tony had expected to have a fight on his hands, considering how vocal Steve had been about these tests.

“Well, that was easier than expected,” Tony chirped.

Turning around, Tony put the needle back and stood aside for the doctor and nurses into the room. The latter immediately began hooking Steve back up to the various machines, while the former started prepping for the procedure. 

“Roll onto your side, Captain,” the doctor instructed calmly. “We’re going to try an anesthetic, but with your metabolism, it’s probably not going to work very well. This is… likely going to be a bit painful.”

“But I really think it’ll work,” Tony injected quickly. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I wasn’t sure. That’s why it wasn’t done before.”

Bucky was pacing by the farthest wall like a caged animal. Tony looked back to the staff surrounding Steve on all sides and realized there was no space for him to get close to his mate. Considering how miserable Steve was going to be, it wouldn’t do to keep the bondmates apart.

“Hey, make way for the man’s mate. This isn’t gonna be pretty.”

Though the nurses glanced at each other, they parted for Barnes.

Steve grumbled, “You have the worst bedside manner,” but reached out his hand for the Terminator before the women were out of the way.

“But you love me anyway,” Tony declared as he watched Bucky tuck himself close to Steve at the head of the bed.

Bucky growled under his breath and Tony laughed because it was half-hearted at best. Bucky could do far better. The nurse closest to him flinched, however, and Tony made a note to find a replacement for Jainine. It wouldn’t do to have easily terrified medical staff in the Tower.

Since he didn’t need to be near Steve, Tony tucked himself into a corner to watch. This way he would have the sample as quickly as possible, though he didn’t relish what was about to come. They curled Steve into a tight ball and Tony was startled at how Barnes curled over his head. The metal arm clicked, whirred, and Tony realized Steve was holding it so hard it had had to recalibrate to stand the pressure. Whatever Barnes was whispering, Tony couldn’t hear it, but he could see the way he was petting Steve’s head. It was… surprisingly tender, especially from Barnes and especially with witnesses. Only one other time had Tony seen Barnes act like a decent Omega, and that had one thing in common with this time: Steve needing help. Tony had to admit that maybe, just maybe, he had misjudged the dark, broody misfit. If he was there when Steve needed him, and Steve was happy, nothing else should matter.

\---

Michael was drifting, stuck in that soft, dark place between waking and sleep. He was utterly relaxed, body melting into the softness of the bed, vaguely aware of the sound of the shower. The only reason he hadn’t drifted away was he was waiting for his turn in the bathroom. At this point, he wasn't sure he would actually be able to get up. He felt too good to worry about it. 

_Life_ was good.

Life would get better when Natasha joined him in bed. Clean or not, he’d have her in his bed, in his arms. Michael sighed. Yes, life was _very_ good.

A door opened, and it took him a moment realize that it hadn’t been the bathroom door. There was no light, and he could still hear the shower going, but someone had to have entered. Slowly, encroaching sleep muffling his fear, he turned to see who had joined them. The hulking, dark shape was just a blot of deeper darkness that crept closer. 

Just as he was about to panic, the bit of light from under the bathroom door was enough to show it was Bucky. Fully dressed in jeans, jacket, and boots, he must have just come from outside.

“Bucky?” Michael mumbled, blinking up at the big man now standing by his bed. 

Bucky didn’t answer, but put his knee on the edge of the bed. It was the dipping of the mattress and the squeak of the frame that woke Michael up at last.

“What are you doing?” he asked, baffled by Bucky’s behavior.

Even still Bucky didn’t answer, just reached for Michael and started rearranging him. He pushed at Michael’s legs under the covers until Michael wasn’t sprawled across the sheets, then proceeded to _climb onto the bed_. Like me meant to _join_ him.

“Bucky!” Michael hissed, twisting away and glaring as he demanded again, “What the hell are you doing?”

Matter-of-factly, Bucky answered, “I came to cuddle.” Even as Michael pulled away, he was shuffling forward, intent on cuddling, and, apparently getting Michael killed.

Clutching the sheets, Michael pulled them up to his chin as he was suddenly, horribly aware that he was naked under them. No matter how silly he looked - a parody of a virgin on his wedding night - he couldn’t let Bucky touch his skin.

“I’m naked!” He had tried to hiss the words, but his voice squeaked and broke in the middle. “You can’t cuddle with me!”

Bucky shrugged and inched forward as Michael continued wiggling away. It was like a bad dance. Bucky moved forward, Michael moved back. There wasn’t much bed left. 

“I don’t care if you are naked.”

“You apparently don’t care if I’m murdered either!” 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Natasha won’t care.”

Michael’s heart squeeze itself into his throat, fear and hysterical laughter fighting for dominance.

“What won’t I care about?” Natasha asked. Fresh from the shower in black satin pyjamas, her hair damp from the shower. Michael hadn’t heard her open the door.

“Me cuddling Michael,” Bucky said, not bothering to even look at her as she stood in the bathroom doorway.

Natasha yawned, obviously tired.

“If you move over and give me my side of the bed back, I won’t.” 

“Okay,” Bucky said easily, shuffling backward. As if they’d planned it, Natasha walked to Michael’s side and bodily rolled him over into the middle as if he weighed as much as a pillow. It would have been amusing, if it hadn’t rolled him right into Bucky.

Face half-squashed in the pillow, limbs caught in the sheets, hands helped him untangle himself. When he realised the other set of hands was Bucky’s he yelped again and jerked away, thumping into Natasha’s back.

“Stop trying to murder me!” he screeched, and at least Bucky paused for a moment to blink at him. 

“I’m not hurting you.” Bucky sounded preoccupied as he looked Michael over, probably trying to figure out the logistics of cuddling with him while Natasha was in the bed.

“Bucky, I’m _naked_.” Michael stressed. “I’ve just had sex.”

“Good for you,” Bucky muttered, obviously not listening.

“Bucky.” Michael hated his voice was a touch sharp, but Bucky needed to hear him. “If you touch me, I’m going to _die._ ”

“Oh, come on.” Bucky sat back on his heels and met his eyes, which was a start. “You are not going to die just because I touched you.” Bucky motioned to Michael’s other side where Natasha was rolling her pillow into the tight roll that she preferred to sleep on. She didn't seem to be bothered by Bucky or the situation. “And Nat is here; it’s not like she’s going to think you cheated.” 

Michael needed a drink. A tall one, strong, maybe with a side of more liquor. Or sanity, if sanity was a thing one could buy in a store. Then he’d have Bucky drink it and never have to worry about being murdered again.

“And what do you think Steve will have to say about it?”

Bucky huffed.

“I’m not having sex with you. I just came to cuddle. I need practice.”

“I need alcohol to deal with you,” Michael muttered, because Bucky really didn’t understand. What was worse, Michael hadn’t expected Nat to be so unaffected by this scene. “Sit over there, don’t touch me, and I’ll explain this to you.” 

Only when Bucky had sat up on his heels, did he continue. 

“Touching me is going to get my scent on you, all over you, because Alphas produce different pheromones during sex. Steve will smell them. He’s gonna smell them and he’s going to think I fucked you, and then what do you think he’s going to do, Bucky? Your Alpha who has no memories and runs off instinct is going to think I’m challenging him for you and _then_ he’s going to come down here and accept that challenge and I’m going to _die_.”

“I’ll explain -”

“No, Bucky, you won’t, because he won’t hear you. There’s proof, my scent, and it will be louder than your words. Our noses aren’t like yours. Scent is stronger, more important. We’re hard-wired to follow it, to listen to it, and Steve isn’t listening to reason right now. You touch me when I smell like this, I die. Okay,” Michael conceded he was being a little dramatic, “I’d at least get beaten. I’d rather not have that happen either.”

Bucky was listening, finally. There was a tiny frown between his brows.

“Huh,” he said, “that would actually explain a lot.”

“See? I tol-”

“But if you just go and take a shower,” Bucky interrupted, “we should be all set, right?”

Michael stared blankly at Bucky, then rubbed his eyes.

“Why don’t you learn to cuddle with Steve? Don’t you think he’d like that?”

“I don’t cuddle with Steve.”

“That’s half of my question,” Michael prodded.

“Steve is for sex and he’s not really Steve now.”

“Steve is...Jesus Christ.” Leaning over Natasha, he kissed her temple and then climbed from the bed. Since Bucky was still sitting in it, this consisted of him crawling backward down the length of it so that he stood up at its foot. “Kitchen. Alcohol. Now.”

“Keep it down,” Natasha mumbled, but otherwise didn’t budge.

From the sound of the bedframe, Bucky followed as Michael climbed into a pair of sweats and headed for the door. They didn’t speak as he raided his cupboards until he found a half-empty bottle of white wine in the fridge. He didn’t bother pouring it into a glass, just yanked out the cork and took a swig from the neck. Bucky, leaning on the doorway and watching him with those intense eyes, was not helping anything.

“Okay, I don’t know where to start. So, let’s go with,” Michael threw out his arm, waving the bottle in the air, “why you want to learn to cuddle at all?”

“Because Steve wants to and when he touches me it triggers all kinds of instincts, none of them right for what he wants.”

“Then I’m back to my last question: why not learn with him?”

“He smells like pain and I tense up whenever he touches me.”

Michael didn’t wince, but it was a near thing.

“Can I guess that you think it’s because your reaction upsets him? And that you haven’t talked to him about it?”

“I talked,” Bucky protested. Michael took another swig from the bottle and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “More than I ever wanted even.”

“About _why_ you react that way?”

“I told him I don’t like touch I don't know the purpose of.”

“So,” Michael said slowly, hoping Bucky understood, “when he touches you and you tense, he thinks he’s fucked up and upset you. Which, then, upsets him.”

Bucky sighed.

“I tried consciously relaxing major muscle groups, but I think he caught on.”

“Major muscle groups...” Michel repeated blankly. Then he shook his head at the odd description. Not relaxing, but relaxing muscle _groups_. “Yeah, I can see how he might have caught on, but you’re not seeing the obvious answer here. Tell him you want to learn and that it’s hard for you. He’s gonna fall all over himself to help.”

Bucky looked down at the floor.

“I don't want to.”

Taking another long pull, Michael asked, “Why?”

Shaking his head, Bucky remained resolutely silent.

“Can I ask you a question?” Michael put the bottle down and stared at Bucky, fascinated by how Bucky was still such a mess; whenever they fixed one problem, two more sprung up. “Do you ever relax? Just let all the tension go, let down all the defences?”

Bucky watched him, a wrinkle between his brows. He had no idea what Michael was talking about. More than that, he looked faintly disgusted by the very idea of relaxing. Great.

“What for?” Bucky shook his head before Michael could answer. “It’s not safe.”

“Safe,” Michael repeated, trying to understand. He pulled the chair out from under the small kitchen table and sat down. Safety, threat assessment, violence; those were words he was used to hearing from Bucky. In his way, Bucky communicated clearly. He rarely lied, preferring silence. The problem was, his perception of reality was skewed just enough that what was clear and obvious to Bucky wasn’t always obvious to others. Michael compared it to talking with a person who couldn’t see color. For someone who had never seen the color blue, even being told they were missing something they'd never noticed, blue would remain nothing more than a idea. Just because somebody told them the sky was blue didn't mean anything, since they still could not see it.

“Isn’t it tiring?” Michael asked, slumping in his chair. Damn, he was tired. He nudged the bottle of wine with his fingers but didn’t take another drink. It was the kind Nat liked the most, but far from his favorite. “Being ‘on’ all the time?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately and Michael was left staring at him. There was always that thrill of attraction he felt when looking at Bucky; an awareness that Bucky hit all of Michael’s buttons. He preferred not to dwell on how half of Michael’s buttons were dangerous, volatile, dominant, and big. Nat fit most, which just confirmed that Michael had a _type_. 

With a sigh, Michael reached for the basket of clementines in the middle of the table and started peeling one. Since he had been supposed to deal with Bucky crawling into his bed in the middle of the night (and all but sentencing Michael to a gruesome and painful death), Michael could at least get some eye candy out of the deal. The citrusy scent of the fruit filled the kitchen and Bucky’s nose twitched. God the man was pretty. And big. He watched Bucky think, watched him look at the messy kitchen. It’s not that it was dirty, it was just chock full of stuff: small appliances, scales, spices, many and varied odds and ends that were necessary when someone cooked as much as Michael. The large fridge and additional freezer were another necessity. To be honest, Michael was thinking about getting a second freezer. The Avengers liked to eat and Michael really liked having people to experiment on. 

It didn't take long before Bucky pulled out the opposite chair and slunk into it sullenly before reaching for the clementines. Michael watched the way the metal fingers worked the skin off so easily and marvelled at the complexity of the technology.

“I forgot there’s any other way to be,” Bucky said finally, putting a few segments of fruit into his mouth. Michael finished his own and reached for another.

“I know why you chose me,” Michael said, stacking up the peel in a neat pile. “I’m the safe choice. Physically, you can break me like a toothpick. I’m not, and never will be, anything close to dangerous. Not to you.” 

Bucky looked up from stripping his second clementine. His grey eyes were dark and unreadable. Michael didn’t need to read him, though. He already knew this part.

“You like me, but I’m not a threat on the emotional front either.” Michael shrugged. “If I reject you, it may sting but it won’t be anything more. You aren’t invested in me, so I’m the ultimate soft target.”

“Michael...,” Bucky tried to interrupt, but Michael wasn't going to let him.

“I don’t matter. So I’m the easy choice.”

“Stop.” This time there was a growl in Bucky’s voice. He sounded angry enough that Michael obeyed. “You matter.” 

Michael sighed and slumped in his chair. He hadn't realised he was starting to lean forward. Okay, so maybe he was angry at being treated so lightly. Most of the time, he knew that Bucky liked him more than almost anyone else, but from time to time it stung that, once upon a time, Michael was found lacking. A man had to have some pride, after all.

“I would love to cuddle with you Bucky,” Michael admitted with a grin, “but don’t you really, truly not realise how jealous, how _hurt,_ Steve would be?”

“I wasn’t planning on having sex with you,” Bucky snorted. 

Michael rolled his eyes at himself at the instinctive offence he felt at not being considered attractive enough to tempt; Bucky was never good for his ego. “I know it, you know it, Natasha knows it. Hell, on some level, even Steve knows it. But it doesn't change the fact that your first choice should have been him, not me.”

Bucky turned his eyes away, rolling the half-peeled clementine in his hands.

“Tony offered too,” Bucky mumbled.

“Tony offered to teach you how to cuddle?” Michael verified.

Bucky nodded.

Michael worked hard not to show the grin that tried to pull at his lips. Around Tony, Bucky acted the strangest. At first he picked on Tony all the time, as if expecting a fight with him at any time. Recently - actually since the shit hit the fan and Bucky had to save Tony from a kidnapping attempt - Bucky had done a complete one-eighty. Instead of picking on Tony, Bucky was avoiding him, keeping silent and strangely unaggressive. It still wasn't very comfortable, though. Michael could never imagine Bucky and Tony cuddling together.

It was mostly idle curiosity, but Michael had to admit he wanted to know, “Did you even consider him?”

Bucky shook his head.

“So not Tony, not Steve, but me.”

“I’m starting to regret my choice,” Bucky grumbled.

“Oh no, you don't get to complain now. You came here in the middle of the night and crawled into my bed. You will sit here and suffer as much of my psychoanalyzing as I want to deliver.”

Bucky looked at him from the corner of his eye, trying to be stern. The look was foiled because the corner of his lip was twitching.

“Sir, yes sir,” he drawled.

Michael couldn’t help but smile. Poor baby was suffering.

“I get why you wouldn't pick Tony; he was an enemy for too long.” Michael started in on another clementine. “I was a potential lover first, then a friend, but never a threat. Still that should make you unc-” Michael swallowed his bite of fruit too fast, choking as the sudden realisation blindsided him. It was the kind of logical leap that took you from point A to point T, with no stops in between.

The clementine was bitter in his mouth as he swallowed again, clearing his throat.

“Bucky,” he started, not sure how to ask, “when you think of yourself with Steve,” he hesitated again, “do you think of both of you as equal in the relationship?”

The fruit sat heavy in his stomach as Bucky didn't look at him.

“Bucky,” he pressed.

“He’s my Alpha,” Bucky said finally.

The bitter taste returned at Bucky's closed expression. 

“Why Alpha?” he asked finally. “Why not choose the word lover, or partner, first? Hell, ‘the man I love’ would have been nice, too.” Bucky had chosen the word, however subconsciously, and it was important. It meant something and Michael didn't like the implication of what that something was. Michael whispered, as if he didn’t want to hear himself say, “You don’t think you and Steve are equal in the relationship, and that’s why you fight so hard not to be vulnerable with him. You put Steve in the same position you always had Alphas in, those that bonded you,” Bucky stood up and started pacing, but Michael wasn’t going to stop, “because you knew nothing else, you fell on the same pattern of behavior.”

“Stop,” Bucky growled, but Michael wasn’t going to, was too shocked by his own discovery.

“I don't think you planned this. I don't even think it was completely conscious on your part, but it explains so much. Why you fought so hard to avoid being vulnerable with Steve, why it was so hard for you to give in. You felt like you were losing even more ground at every step, didn’t you?”

“I know Steve isn’t Hydra!” Bucky snapped, whirling to stare at Michael.

Michael deflated.

“Knowledge and emotions are two different things.”

Bucky shook his head.

“They are,” Michael said gently. “Have you considered talking to somebody about what happened to you?” Bucky only growled at him, pacing the small kitchen. “You are hurting yourself. Don’t you want to not be in pain anymore?”

“I hate you sometimes.” Bucky’s voice was still a low growl but his pacing was slowing.

“I don't believe it,” Michael whispered. “You don’t cuddle with people you hate.”

Bucky obviously didn't like Michael’s conclusion, but was at least listening. 

“Steve is _not_ Hydra.” There was so much emotion in Bucky’s voice it choked Michael. “He is not.” 

“But he is an Alpha.” Michael held still, keeping his voice gentle as Bucky stopped pacing and came back to the table, picking up the bottle, “and the only relationships with Alpha’s you’ve ever had before left you powerless.”

“He’s…” Bucky exhaled, his shoulders slumped, as he turned his back on Michael. “I don’t want to feel that way.” 

Michael wanted to offer comfort, but he knew it wouldn't be accepted. Despite the issues Bucky had with Alphas, only Steve had the right to touch Bucky that way. “Steve was afraid I feel that way. It makes him do stupid things.”

That made Michael wince. He couldn’t decide if Steve’s acting up on Bucky’s issues was a good thing, though. Sometimes it required telepathy to deal with Bucky, and more importantly, some of these things Steve couldn’t fix. This was one of them. Bucky had had to figure it out on his own.

However, it did explain why Bucky was always upset that Steve was closed off, or not sharing his desires. 

“I think he knows, at least a little. If it were me? I’d hold back asking you for things knowing you’d do them, even if you didn’t want to.”

Bucky stared at the bottle still in his hands.

“He won. Fair and square. He won the right.” 

Michael snatched the bottle from Bucky’s hand and drank, deeply.

“No one has a right to make you do what you don’t want to.”

Bucky shook his head.

“I don’t see it as doing something I don’t want to do. It’s not… He’s not forcing me or anything.” Bucky lifted his flesh hand to rub at his scalp. “I kind of like it about him.” He paused, licking his lips. “That he is strong, that he’s actually is capable of beating me one-on-one. It just _does_ it for me.”

Well, wasn’t that a blow to the ego.

“We’re now talking about two different things, Buck.” 

Rubbing his face, Michael reminded himself he had a gorgeous, dangerous Omega of his own in his bed with whom he’d just had amazing and enthusiastic sex. More than that, he was _happy_ with Natasha. Well, not her eating habits, but nobody was perfect.

Bucky frowned. “We are talking about Steve. Steve means sex, so we are talking about sex, too. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“I really, really thought we’d gotten past this,” Michael said morosely. “Remember? The groveling? Steve wanting more than just sex?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did that, too. But I like the sex the best.”

“We’re not talking about what _you_ like.”

Bucky pursed his lips, visibly mulling that over as he pulled out a chair and sat down again.

“True. I got distracted. He distracts me.”

Michael made a mental note to get a bigger table for his kitchen so he had more counter space to bang his head.

“Okay,” Michael said, with all his patience, “so again, him asking you to do anything, not just have sex, is hard because he’ll know you’ll do whatever he asks.”

“But it’s what he wants.”

“No, it’s what he _asks_. What he wants is for you to be happy, to be able to say no.” Michael took a drink, trying to think of a way that this would make sense to Bucky. “He wants you to keep your freedom.”

Bucky slumped, mirroring Michael’s pose with his legs stretched out.

“I think…” He hesitated, closed his eyes, and tilted his head to rest it against the back of the chair. “I knew that. From the beginning. It’s partly why I don’t say no. I don’t think I ever believed he would ask for things that I would need to refuse.”

“That’s a bit more blind faith than I thought you capable of.” Michael lifted the bottle to his lips, but lowered it before he took a drink. “Have you ever said that to Steve?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Why the hell not?” Michael waved the bottle around in frustration. “He would love to hear that from you.”

“He gets upset. A lot of things he wants don’t really matter to me, so it costs me nothing to give them to him.” Bucky scowled. “He gets this horrible expression on his face when I say it.”

“Because it’s _you_. Your body. Your mind. If you do something with it, it matters. It should matter to you. More than his wishes, it should matter what you feel about it. This ‘I feel nothing’ routine is not… It’s not good in long term.” 

Michael took a deep breath because he was either going to get through to Bucky or get killed for what he said next. “What you’re telling me is that Steve gave you all the freedom you ever wanted, all the choice, and you didn’t know how to deal with it. So you fell back into the only pattern you knew. No wonder Steve was so lost. There’s no way for him to do better. He’d done what he could. The ball is in your court now.”

Bucky growled wordlessly.

“So, what? I shouldn’t say yes to him?”

“You could try explaining why you say yes. Because I bet my liver you just said yes and then clammed up.”

“It doesn’t seem very efficient,” Bucky complained in a petulant voice, but he wasn’t fighting against the message Michael was trying to convey.

“You chose him with your eyes wide open; you owe it to him to meet him halfway.”

“What if he doesn’t like my explanation?”

Michael shrugged.

“Well, he did choose you with _his_ eyes wide open. Just like you have to deal with him, so he has to deal with you.”

Bucky straightened in his chair and leaned over the table to look closely at Michael. His hair was messy, strands floating every which way around his face. 

“You seem strangely pragmatic,” he mused, staring down at Michael as if he were some strange new species Bucky was encountering for the first time, “Is it Natasha’s influence?”

“No,” Michael said sweetly, pointing at the oven clock glowing red in the dim kitchen. It read 3:20 am. “It’s the fact I have less than three hours of sleep left.”

“You are grumpy,” Bucky said as if it was some kind of revelation, echoes of mirth in his voice.

“Yes, yes I am,” Michael confirmed. “I want to go to bed, snuggle, and get some sleep.”

“I don’t even have the cats to snuggle to anymore,” Bucky complained, bracing his metal elbow on the table and resting his jaw on his palm.

“Go on then,” Michael stood, setting the bottle on the counter before pushing his chair in, “Go snuggle the cats at Steve’s. He’s the one you should have barged in on in the first place.”

“You’re easier.” 

It was disarmingly honest. Michael would have tried to strangle him, but he knew when he was beaten.

“Go. Snuggle the cats. Torture Steve. He likes your attention anyway.”

Bucky grumbled, “I feel like you’re kicking me out.” But he got up.

“You are so sharp,” Michael confirmed, all but pushing Bucky towards the door. 

“I am, which is why I’ll be having a conversation with Nat tomorrow.” He smiled wickedly at Michael, and then left, leaving Michael with a sense of approaching doom. He did _not_ want Bucky and Natasha discussing their relationship. God only knew what those two could come up with.

Finally, though, he returned to his bedroom and crawled, exhausted, into bed beside Natasha.

“‘S Bucky sleeping with us?” she asked in a sleepy voice, likely woken by him.

“No,” Michael said patiently, thinking he really, truly had a type, ”Bucky is not sleeping with us.” 

“Hmm, good,” she mumbled slowly, “bed’s not big enough.”

Michael cuddled up to Natasha’s back, wondering how no one else noticed he seemed to be the only sane person in the tower.


	15. Chapter 15

Steve couldn’t determine if his insomnia was old or new. It was something he could have asked, but he was worried it was just a symptom. More than that, he worried not knowing would sadden whoever he asked. Someone - Steve guessed Michael - must have talked to his pack about comparing him to his old self because it was happening less and less. Even Bucky had thought of him, been affectionate. Steve was sure he never would have gotten through that last test without him. The pain had been excruciating, like nothing he’d ever felt, but Bucky had let him squeeze his hand, murmuring in his ear non-stop, petting him. He had been an anchor, a rock, a lifeline. They had issues to work through, but Bucky had listened to him and actively tried to change. Just thinking about it made Steve smile. It took dedication to do that for another person.

It was these thoughts that kept Steve up, looping non-stop over and over until he’d finally climbed from bed and into the shower. The steam was soothing, the heat relaxing, and the sound quieting the stampeding thoughts in his brain. When he started nodding off, Steve thought maybe he could get to sleep at last. It was late, early morning hours, and they had so much to do. 

Not that Steve was in on the plans. Yet. He would be damned if they left him out again, though. They were his pack. His Omegas were in danger. He was _going to help_ , or… 

There was no ‘or’.

Drowsily, Steve turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and started drying off even as he stumbled towards the bed. He made it two steps past the door before the hair on his neck stood up. Some primal instinct cutting through his sleepy mind to shout, “You’re not alone!”

Looking around the room, he took in his mussed and empty bed, then found the reason standing in his doorway. Bent over, one hand pinning Sergeant Tibbs to the floor, was Bucky. Steve blinked slowly, wondering if he had fallen asleep after all and cracked his head open again. A concussion would explain the sight of his Omega, blinking back at him, his long hair a curtain across his face. He was frozen, though the kitten was wriggling.

Tentatively, Steve took a step forward.

“Bucky?” 

Bucky’s response was less than enlightening.

“Um,” he mumbled, his eyes growing huge. 

No, this wasn’t a dream. Bucky wouldn’t have been so statuesque in his fantasies. A growing worry began in his stomach until Steve realized Bucky wasn’t staring _at_ him. Well, he was, just not at his eyes. He was staring at Steve’s chest, his torso. A glance down and Steve had to fight a smirk. He was still wet from the shower, droplets of water dripping down his admittedly impressive physique. 

Recalling Michael’s words, Steve flexed his pecs. He wanted to know what would happen, if Michael was right, if he was reading this right.

Bucky swallowed. Steve watched his Adam's apple bob and couldn't help the slow heat that slowly filled him, the tingle of pride at knowing he could make Bucky look at him like that. Could make him stare. It was tempting to cross the room and see if he could make this go somewhere, but he wasn’t sure they were ready. It was hard to even picture the words in his head, but they’d had so many problems lately. This, though, explained a lot about who they had been before Steve had lost his memories.

“I never thought I would like feeling like a piece of meat,” Steve murmured, keeping his voice low to prevent Bucky from startling out of his trance, “but I do.”

Bucky took a slow, deep breath, his lips slightly parted. Otherwise, he didn’t react. Steve wasn’t sure he’d heard his words at all. For once, being ignored wasn’t irritating. At all. It was nice. No, it was more than nice. It gave him a confidence he’d lost somewhere between finding and being banished to his room. It filled him with pride; his Omega _wanted_ him. His Omega was driven speechless from staring at his muscles.

He flexed again and Bucky’s eyes reversed their trek down his abs, back to his chest, and locked in place. They were so dark, leaving no doubt just where Bucky’s mind had gone. The kitten wiggled out from under Bucky’s hand, and Bucky at last twitched. His head snapped down, watching the kitten run off before finally standing. If Steve hadn’t known better, he would have said his Omega looked more than a little bashful at his reaction.

Heading to the dresser for some sweats, Steve watched Bucky’s eyes fall to his ass and had to hold back a bark of laughter.

“My eyes are up here, Bucky,” he said dryly.

Bucky didn’t quite jerk, but the sudden tensing and then controlled relaxing of his posture was a clear indication that he’d wanted to. His eyes snapped to Steve’s face but started dropping down almost as soon as he’d achieved eye contact. It made Steve’s heart clench with fondness. 

Smiling, more confident than he had been since Bucky had thrown him through a wall, Steve hopped into his sweats and walked over to his mate. Remembering their prior discussions, he said, “I’m going to pick you up,” before doing exactly that, sweeping Bucky into his arms and carrying him to the bed. Bucky was tense, but there was no struggle, though Steve hadn’t expected one the way Bucky had been staring. Huffing, much like Red Beast when displeased, Bucky wrapped his metal arm around Steve’s shoulders and didn’t protest, even when Steve didn’t set him on the bed, but knelt, walking on his knees to the middle and settling Bucky against and around him.

“You put on pants,” Bucky pouted, and Steve couldn’t stop himself from laughing this time. It was the pout, mostly, but also knowing Bucky would never admit to it either.

“I didn’t want you to think I wanted sex and yell at me again.” Using his feet, he wriggled the edge of the comforter into reach and pulled it over them both. “I want you to stay and you seem… amenable.”

“Even brain-wiped, you’re too polite.”

Chuckling, because of course Bucky was going to be grumpy, Steve took his Omega’s flesh hand and pressed it to his chest.

“You can touch, I don’t mind.”

The hesitation on Bucky’s face was not what Steve expected.

“Even if it doesn’t lead to sex?”

Grinning, Steve felt warmth blossom through his chest.

“I don’t mind.”

“What if it does lead to sex?” Bucky persisted and Steve wondered if Bucky even knew what he wanted.

“There is no way I’d turn down sex with you, pretty.”

Bucky jerked, leaning away from him and Steve blinked, letting his arms go loose in case his Omega wanted to pull away.

“What? What’d I do?”

Scowling, Bucky thumped Steve on the chest.

“It’s not _always_ you, Steve. Stop being so self-centered.”

The fact that Bucky hadn’t actually pulled away took the sting out of the words. Something had happened, though, and Steve was through letting Bucky dance around his questions.

“Okay, not me, so _what_ happened?”

Bucky swallowed, then slowly leaned against Steve’s chest. Amused, Steve noticed that his hands explored more than a simple hug required.

“You used to call me that. Pretty.” 

Bucky’s hands slid down Steve’s sides, then around his back, palms spread across his skin, one human and warm, one metal and inexplicably warm as well.

“Makes sense.” Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and hip. “You’re ridiculously pretty. Long eyelashes, long, soft, shiny hair; sharp cheekbones, full lips. Prettiest person in the whole Tower.” Bucky snorted. “The whole city.” Bucky chuckled. “No, the _whole state._ ”

Bucky thumped his hand against Steve’s chest again, but he was smiling against Steve’s neck. The matching grin on his own lips felt so good. This was how it should have been from the beginning, but Steve would take it now.

“So very not smooth, Rogers.”

“I’ll show you smooth,” Steve groused and took hold of Bucky’s knee and pushed down. Bucky didn’t fight, just let Steve manipulate him until he could wrap a leg about both Bucky’s and tug, pulling them between Steve’s until they were wrapped together, touching everywhere it was possible. Bucky’s silent acquiescence filled Steve with wonder. He just allowed this, no protest or tension. Well, less tension than when they’d started.

“Why’d you come? Not that I’m complaining,” Steve said quickly, “but it was unexpected.”

“Michael kicked me out and there are cats here.” 

Of course, that explained exactly nothing. Yet hearing Bucky was with Michael left an odd taste in Steve’s mouth. Jealousy, he realized, and he quickly stuffed the emotion into a dark corner of his mind. It didn’t belong in this moment.

Attempting for teasing, Steve said, “So you came for the cats, huh?” 

“Wanted a cuddle,” Bucky muttered, barely intelligible against Steve’s skin, “but they keep running away.”

“Guess you’ll have to make do with me.” Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “On the plus side, I’m warmer. On the con side, not as much fur. However, if you’re _really, really_ still, they’ll get up here and go to sleep.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhmm,” Steve hummed. “So? Stay? Best of both worlds.”

“It’s so strange,” Bucky wiggled into a more comfortable position, “there wasn’t even any sex.”

Steve hated asking about his old life, but he couldn’t just leave the comment alone.

“Is sex a prerequisite for cuddling?”

Bucky made the oddest of sounds, a cross between a purr and a growl. He wiggled and Steve twitched and laughed as he felt Bucky’s hands on his ass, grabbing two handfuls.

“Hell yes. Who would pass up this prime piece of tail?”

Meat. A juicy, fresh, tasty steak; that was how Steve felt. It made him burst with pride, when he suspected he should be insulted. He didn’t even point out that Bucky had passed it up. Twice.

“You can have that ‘prime piece of tail’ _and_ you can have cuddles without sex. I am happy to oblige.”

Bucky relaxed against him, making a strange harrumping sound, and forgoing a verbal answer. The body language was enough, though. Satisfaction thrummed through Steve like a live wire. 

Settling into the mattress, Steve held Bucky tight, but let himself relax otherwise. He didn’t think Bucky wasn’t going to leave now, and that was everything Steve wanted. They didn’t speak again, just drifted on the edge of sleep. Soon the kittens took their stillness as assurance no one would roll over and squish them, curling up around Bucky and Steve’s legs. It was perfect, and Steve almost regretted the sleep that soon took him from consciousness.

\----

“What exactly are you doing?” Steve asked, looking on curiously as sparks flew, brilliant and silver-gold, all around Tony. A protective layer of glass, or plastic, separated Steve from the work, but still let him watch. He had been in Tony’s lab all morning, stalking the Omega after Bucky had left his apartment that morning. They were up to something and they were trying to keep him out of it, but that was going to be difficult when he was constantly focussed on the main person in their plot. Sucked to be Bucky today.

“Creating a version of a geiger counter, except it should track the specific radiation signature of -”

“Never mind,” Steve said quickly. Tony snorted; they’d both learned Steve had no patience for Tony’s technical explanations. “I should have asked, what’s the thing for?”

“‘The thing,’” Tony repeated loftily, “is to track one of the artifacts that was stolen. Hopefully we find it, we find them all, and -”

“The guy who stole them,” Steve breathed, noting the sweat beading on Tony’s forehead. “That’s brilliant, Tony. Why didn’t you start sooner?”

“‘That’s brilliant, Tony,’” Tony repeated in a high, nasally tone. His free hand rubbed at his jean-clad leg, leaving a dark smear behind. “But you still suck.”

“I did not say that,” Steve huffed, wondering in the back of his mind if the short-sleeved shirt and ratty jeans Tony was wearing were really the best covering for this kind of work. 

“Yeah, you did.” Tony finally looked up, pushing the welding mask on to the top of his head as he took his finger off the torch trigger. “For your information, Momento,” Steve knew better than to ask what that meant. “I’ve been concentrating on security first. If we’re not safe, there’s no point in attacking anywhere since they’ll just hit us where it hurts again. _And_ ,” Tony said as soon as Steve opened his mouth, “I had been hoping Barnes and the Itsy-Bitsy-Spider would find a lead before I had to use my particular skills. Okay,” Tony tilted the visor down so it slipped over his features again, “it’s Bruce's idea, but I’m still making it.”

“Need any help?” Steve asked. 

The question must have been surprising, because the welding torch shut off a moment after Steve said the words, not even reaching the device-thing, and Tony pushed his mask up again. For a long moment, Tony stared at him with eyes as dark as the coffee Bucky preferred in the morning, and then without a word, dropped the mask back in place.

“I’ll let you know if I do.” He turned back, the torch flamed to life, and he added, “Nice to have a super-strong, muscle man around sometimes.”

Steve leaned back against the wall behind him. 

“Is there any progress with the artifacts that were stolen? I know everyone is busy, and we have other concerns now, but I haven’t heard if you found anything.”

Tony fiddled with the torch, making the blue flame smaller and tighter. When he set the flame to the thing he was working on, less sparks flew through the air.

“We haven’t managed, no. None have been sold, or put up for auction, or even breathed about.” The metal was glowing a fascinating gold, then cooling into a deep red. “Nat is spitting nails, but I’m not sure if she’s mad at herself, or her informants. Frankly, I don’t want to know what she did to them to be so sure of her info.” Tony shrugged, which seemed incredibly unsafe with the lit torch in his hands. “She’s wrangled Bruce into going through the research we have on the things and he, in turn, me.”

Steve straightened up, feeling a chill on something important pulse through his muscles.

“What kind of research?”

Tony gesticulated widely with the active torch. It made Steve twitch with the need to go there and shut the thing off. Except he’d also learned Tony didn’t like it when Steve thought Tony didn’t know what he was doing. Not to mention, Tony really _did_ know what he was doing. Steve simply hated the thought of Tony hurting himself.

“What little we’ve managed to get done, or was lying around when we acquired the artifacts. I’m a very busy man, Steven. I don’t have the time to research every little thing you pick up on a whim.”

“So it’s my fault?” Steve asked slowly.

“No. Yes - Okay.” Tony cursed and pulled back from his work. He fidgeted with the blowtorch, making the flame longer and whiter than before. He then bent down to his work again. “You’re uppity about giving S.H.I.E.L.D. any artifacts after they fucked with the Tesseract and nearly blew up New York after helping an alien army invade. Something about not dying for that kind of shit to happen again.”

Steve managed to croak out, “Dying?”

“I’m telling a story,” Tony snapped. “You want me to answer _which_ question?”

“Um,” Steve shoved his hand through his hair, “the artifacts.”

“Alright.” Tony let out a hard breath. “At first it worked okay, we investigated the artifacts between missions and, if we deemed them safe, we gave them to S.H.I.E.L.D. If not, we kept them.” Whatever Tony was doing must have been going well, as he crowed, set down the blow torch, and picked up some pliers and a pile of wire. “But between missions and you challenging the World Security Council, and trying to run a company, Bruce and I just don’t have the time to do _everything_.”

“So we just stuck them in the vault and they piled up,” Steve clarified.

“Like freaking bunnies,” Tony confirmed. “Before we knew it, there were dozens of them waiting for a free moment.”

Dropping his hand down to his side, Steve said, “And only three were stolen.”

“We think so,” Tony murmured, more focused on his work than Steve for the time being. “Bruce went through the inventory twice, so unless one is a fake, the rest are all there. We’re missing a weird stone that absorbs sound waves - I named it Chunky.” Steve snorted. “Several vials of a mineral that is drawn to itself so forcefully it will dig through walls to reconnect, and a pen that can turn into a sword.”

“I kind of expected the items to be a bit more… exciting.” Steve rubbed his eyes. “How do you turn a pen into a sword?”

“Take the cap off,” Tony said absently. Steve bit his lip, holding back his next question before he irritated Tony again. He just had to wonder if taking the cap off turned it into a sword, what turned it back into pen? You couldn’t put the cap onto the sword, could you? Did the cap get bigger too? “Well, we’re not really sure if they do more than that. The files we have don’t say, but maybe someone had other files?”

Sometimes, Tony was as bad as Bucky when answering questions.

“Someone?” 

“I already went through the S.H.I.E.L.D. files and sent anything relevant to Bruce. There wasn’t much, just a stone that they had their hands on that looked a lot like Chunky.”

“Could it be the same stone?” Steve asked, hoping there could be a connection there.

“No, just similar markings,” Tony mumbled. Most of the wire was now threaded through the… thing, and poking out the other side. “Nearly identical in places, different in others. They’d heard of the mineral being used as a tracking device, too, but they had no first-hand accounts, or any of the substance themselves so… Well, this baby should be able to track the mineral if I can… just…” 

There was a zap and Tony cursed, shaking his hand vigorously as he jumped away from his… thing. Steve came off the wall, nearly coming around the protective shield before he locked his limbs in place.

“Jesus, you okay, Tony?”

JARVIS’ voice interrupted as Tony held his wrist and violently shook his hand.

“Sergeant Barnes is on his way.” 

“Oh, goodey. I’ve been waiting for _hours_.”

Steve sighed. There was the proof that they were keeping him out of the loop on purpose. He wondered exactly how much time they had left before their deadline. At least Tony was fine, sucking on his fingers now and mumbling around them as he stared at his device.

The door slid open to reveal his mate. He wore his usual dark jeans, heavy combat boots, and a leather jacket. Thin gloves covered both of his hands and his hair was wet, dripping curls stuck to his forehead and cheeks. The moment his grey eyes landed on Steve, they narrowed and then swept the room again. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked, but his mate didn’t look at him, heading for the Omega in the center of the workshop. The welding mask was now perched atop Tony’s head, watching Bucky impatiently.

“About time, Skywalker?” Tony chirped. “I’ve been ready since last night.”

Bucky didn’t answer, walking to Steve and Tony, pushing his arm against Steve’s chest. It wasn’t quite a shoulder check, but Steve held still, watching his mate curiously as this was new behavior. Bucky’s gaze flicked to Steve, but then returned to Tony, even as he pressed more of his weight against Steve. Steve fought the urge to laugh. Bucky was acting like their kittens when he’d come home. They would rub over his ankles and then press their small bodies against his to make sure he felt them. Unlike the kittens, Bucky was really rather heavy, and Steve had to plant his feet to keep from swaying backwards. If Bucky’s second quick glance meant anything, he’d noticed, and the tiny lift to the corner of Bucky’s mouth was for him.

“Should I offer a scratch in greeting?” Steve mused, letting his hand rest on Bucky’s upper arm.

“Depends if you give good scritches or not.” 

Bucky leaned a little harder, though his focus was on Tony. Yet, it was a willing touch from his Omega, sustained contact, and Steve curled his hand around Bucky's strong forearm even though he wished he had access to more skin.

“Oh my god,” Tony gasped in a fake falsetto. “Public display of affection!”

“Tony,” Steve sighed, feeling Bucky pull away slowly.

“What?” Tony exclaimed. “You expect me to keep silent when I see a milestone like this? I feel like I should throw confetti or something.”

“Since it made him stop?” Steve grumbled. “Yes.”

“Okay, fair point.” Tony shrugged a shoulder. “But! Progress, right?” Steve didn’t answer, just rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Right.” 

“Steve,” Bucky said, and Steve knew this was the moment he’d been waiting for. “Can you leave Tony and me alone?”

“Nope.”

Both Tony and Bucky looked at him in surprise. Shrugging, he smiled at them easily and crossed his arms. He was a rock. They weren’t going anywhere without him. Whatever Bucky wanted with Tony - and he knew what Bucky wanted with Tony - he could say it with Steve here.

“Steve,” Tony began with far less than his usual confidence, “we have limited time -” 

“Not going.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Bucky snarled, going from warm to an inferno in a second. Steve stood firm, literally and figuratively not budging as Bucky whirled on him. “You need to get the hell out of here. This is none of your business.”

“You’re my mate,” Steve growled, baring his teeth. “If it involves you, it involves me.”

A warning growl left Bucky, as compelling as any Steve thought an Alpha could make.

“I am _not_ your property.”

Ducking his head, Steve met Bucky’s eyes on an even level. He now knew why Bucky responded so poorly to him sometimes. The thing was, Steve wasn’t one of the Alphas that had hurt Bucky. They were mates, their lives intertwined. Why Bucky didn’t seem to realize that was beyond him, though what Steve was mostly confused about was why the other him had never brought it up.

“And I am not another Alpha out to hurt you,” Steve said, forcing his voice to be calm. “I care about you and I’m not leaving you alone to deal with this mess.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and the sign of shock took Steve aback. Before he could ask what was so surprising, his Omega’s expression changed. His eyes softened, his whole demeanor different as his gaze lowered from their challenging stare. It was a complete transformation to someone who was no longer violently angry.

Tony sighed.

“Well, now that that’s decided, we’re going to prove all the sensible adults in my life right and kill me in a gruesome lab accident of my own making.” The blow torch thumped onto a cart and Tony gestured at DUM-E. “Get this out of the way; I need it in the safe so I can work on it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Steve repeated, carefully sidling up to Bucky and following his own body language by leaning against his mate’s shoulder. “How can you be here tomorrow?”

“Well, maybe not _exactly_ tomorrow,” Tony gave Steve an irritated look, “but when the big bad is convinced I’m dead, we’re hiding me out in the Tower.”

Bucky didn’t cuddle, or even lean against Steve, but there was certain quality to his posture and a way he made space for Steve that let him know he was wanted.

“Isn’t that… obvious?” Steve asked.

Putting his hand on his hip, he full on glared at Steve.

“Listen, Know-It-All, you barged into this plan fully-formed. You wanna play, you don’t get to second guess us. We’ve thought through _every_ angle, haven’t we, Grumpy Cat?”

“We have,” Bucky confirmed with no inflection whatsoever.

Knowing when he was beat, Steve sighed and held up a hand in surrender.

“Okay, so you were saying?”

Peeling off his thick work gloves, Tony went to another device off to one side. It was big and complicated, with dozens of intricate parts. The base rested on a low wheeled platform. The bottom half was thick, perhaps holding an engine of sorts. The middle was made of wires and dominated by a large cylindrical object that reminded Steve of a cannon, with clear lenses, thick and faintly green, attached at both ends. The purpose of the hundred wires wrapped around it, or the extensions protruding from the middle of the canon like body, was entirely a mystery. Moving it took some effort, Tony’s biceps bulging until he let it come to a stop in the middle of the room.

“This is something I’ve been working on for a while. No, I won’t explain what it does.” Tony flicked a switch, and it began to hum. “Suffice to say, I have been working on it for some time because the science is theoretical and the fucking thing is temperamental. Anyone who looks at it later will have no trouble thinking I died, even with precautions.”

Steve scowled, but held back his opinion on Tony regularly working with dangerous things.

“So,” Tony went on, “I’m going to laser the fuck out of myself - this is going to hurt. Like really hurt. So, Steve, since you’re here, you have to _not_ call for help. Let JARVIS and the usual lab protocols do it.”

Slowly, Steve looked at Bucky.

“Then why are we even here?”

At last, Bucky spoke. “I was coming to let Tony know I was ready.”

“Now that I know,” Tony swept his arm toward the door, “Get the fuck out.”

“Tony,” Steve said slowly, but Bucky grabbed his elbow and that stopped him. Bucky didn't touch him often.

“He knows what he’s doing, Steve. Trust him.”

Blowing out a breath, Steve reluctantly nodded and allowed Bucky to lead him from the room. No, he didn’t like it, but he did have to trust both Tony and Bucky. This situation was difficult, dangerous, but so was Bucky, and Tony was smarter than anyone else. Not anyone else Steve knew, but _anyone else ever_. 

If anyone could pull this off without actually murdering Tony, they could. That left just one detail.

“I’m coming with you.”

Bucky paused halfway down a hallway and looked around. Then he dragged Steve forcefully to the elevator. Steve let him, holding his tongue until they stopped on Bucky’s floor. It’s what he’d expected, seeing as there was no security in his Omega’s apartment.

“They’ll never believe,” were the first words out of Bucky’s mouth, but Steve had thought this through. Every argument, ever objection, and he was waiting.

“That your _mate_ refuses to leave you behind?” Steve interrupted. “That he cares only for you, and no one else?” When Bucky stared at him with his mouth still open, Steve softened his tone and expression. “Look, this guy knows how I’ve been acting. He _knows_ that I’m a walking stereotype. Let’s _use_ that. We’ll say, after Tony died, I caught you sneaking out and I refused to let you go alone. It’s the truth, isn’t it? I won’t let you, Bucky. I will follow you, so… take me with, or risk me being alone.”

“Blackmail Steve?” Bucky groused. “Really?”

Steve spread his arms and if he made sure his pecs flexed more than necessary, nobody knew but him. 

“I’m serious, too. I will follow you.”

“I can see that.” 

Bucky was still growly, but his eyes had flicked to Steve’s chest. How Steve hadn’t seen that before, he had no idea.

“With how little I remember, I imagine I could be easily killed or kidnapped maybe? No idea who to trust, where to go…”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick.” Bucky complained, but Steve could see him softening. He was making progress.

“The last few days taught me that subtle is usually lost on you,” Steve smiled sweetly. “I can take care of myself, I remember my training, and I remember _you_. I won't be left behind.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped, and the shout of victory Steve wanted to give was viciously strangled in his throat. Gloating wasn’t attractive.

“You are so goddamn stubborn.”

Steve smiled.

“Pot, kettle.” Wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist, he pulled him close and brushed a kiss over his lips. “Just tell me what to do, boss.”

“Well,” Bucky’s lips twitched, “at least you know who’s in charge.”

“Damn straight.” Steve couldn’t help himself and stole another quick kiss. It wasn’t the time or place, but they were Bucky’s lips and they were addicting. “Following your lead from here on out. Let’s go work for the bad guys.”


	16. Chapter 16

The phone rang again, but Pepper closed her eyes. 

“We have confirmation from the hospital that Tony Stark has been pronounced dead -”

“- reports of a laboratory explosion -”

“No word yet from Stark Industries, or the Avengers.”

It was a blur, the sound an assault. It was a lie, and yet Pepper’s chest had tightened painfully. She could hardly breathe as the news stations she kept running in her office repeated over and over that her Tony was dead.

“ _It’ll just be temporary_ ,” Tony had promised the night before, “ _I’ll be fine_.”

When JARVIS had called her to Tony’s lab, he hadn’t _looked_ fine. A hole the size of two fingers had been burned through her Omega’s chest, the edges black and ragged, while the center still glowed with heat. He wasn’t conscious, sprawled on the cold floor as alarms blared from every speaker. 

It was just a lie.

It felt real. It had _smelled_ real. Like roasting pig, or barbecue, smokey and rich. Bile rose in Pepper’s throat at the memory and she squeezed her eyes tighter. She was sure she was going to smell this scent in her dreams for months to come.

“...No one knows what Tony Stark was working on at the time of his accident…”

Every channel, every radio station was blaring the same thing over and over again. Tony Stark dead. The board members had panicked, calling moments after the ambulance had arrived, yelling at her, at each other, terrified by the rapidly dropping stock prices. She knew they would bounce back, like every time Tony was suspected or confirmed dead, but the headlong rush to lay blame came first. It had taken so much effort and patience to deal with the board while her own heart was tearing apart. 

“ _We have to, Alpha_ ,” Tony called her that so, so rarely, “ _To make the guy who wants me dead think I am. It’s to keep me safe_.”

He’d argued so sweetly. Pepper never should have said yes. She’d never thought she wouldn't be able to pull through, that it would be this damn hard.

It was only a few days, only until he could safely re-enter the Tower without suspicion. 

The phone started ringing again.

At least the bastard would believe it. Everyone believed it, even Pepper.

\----

Steve crossed his arms and focused on his shoes. From his periphery, he could still see the small man in a grey suit, burgundy tie. He was standing against the back wall now, an aide to one of the many dignitaries the Avengers had spent the last hour reassuring him that Tony’s death wouldn’t mean the end of world safety. No one had introduced him, at least Steve was fairly certain they hadn’t.

The Important People headed towards the door and Steve lingered, falling behind. They’d agreed he wouldn’t speak much, wouldn’t give away they were down _two_ Avengers, not one. The aide did as well, looking nervous, sweating, glancing about. 

Bastard should be nervous, Steve thought, falling in a few people behind him. He’d put something in the pocket of Bucky’s coat during the meeting. If Bucky wasn’t making up for Steve’s memory with the others, if there hadn’t been two dozen people in that cramped meeting room, if he’d been _wearing_ the coat at the time, Steve imagined Bucky would have noticed. He hadn’t. As far as Steve had been able to tell, he was the only one that noticed, and that was because he couldn’t take his eyes off Bucky, not after their relationship had improved so much. 

Steve had retrieved it already, no one was paying him that much attention, and to all appearances it was just a cellphone. He could be wrong, though. It could be some kind of explosive, or other weapon. Steve didn’t know. Steve didn’t care. He was going to tear the little shit apart and find out what the hell was going on.

As the group headed towards the elevator, the other Avengers with their best smiles on, Steve slipped through the group until he was just behind the jerk. He tapped his shoulder, fixing a smile on his lips, and didn’t narrow his eyes as the aide jumped a foot.

“Excuse me?” Steve smiled again. “I think you forgot something.”

The aide’s eyes went huge, but he froze in place, the others flowing around them like water. Nothing to see here, after all, just Captain America being nice and polite. 

“I, um, no…” the aide began, but got no father. The group walked around the corner and Steve slapped his forearms into the little Beta’s chest, shoving him through the swinging door and into the supply closet behind. With Steve’s forearm pressed against his throat, the guy couldn’t even squeak out a breath in terror.

“Try again,” Steve growled, feeling his chest swell with a dangerous growl. He yanked the phone out of his pants pocket and waved it in the aide’s face. “Why did you put this in Bucky’s pocket?”

“I- I-” the Beta stuttered.

“You start talking now, or I’m going to start breaking bones,” Steve smiled, lips peeling back from his teeth. “Ready to start?” 

“I was told to!” 

Steve narrowed his eyes, sniffing, but all he could smell was piss and fear. If the guy was lying, Steve couldn’t tell.

“Told by who?”

The door slammed open hard enough to rattle the cleaning solutions on the shelves. Turning to the door, expecting to find this guy’s back up, Steve went still upon seeing his Omega. His very displeased Omega.

“Care to tell me why JARVIS is calling me to make sure Captain America doesn’t murder one of the diplomats - the diplomats we’re _supposed_ to play nice for - in a supply closet?”

Steve frowned, wondering if that was a trick question.

“Because I might murder a diplomat in a supply closet if he doesn’t answer my questions.”

Bucky looked Steve up and down as the Beta in question whimpered.

“Huh,” Bucky sounded surprised, but not entirely against the idea. “Not that I have anything against a little murder, but can I at least know why?”

Holding up the phone, Steve showed it to Bucky, but kept it out of reach.

“He put this in your pocket. _Someone_ told him to.”

Bucky made a grab for the phone, but Steve yanked it back.

“Steve,” Bucky growled softly.

“No,” Steve shook his head, “it might go off it you touch it. It was meant for you.”

“If I… Steve...” Bucky sighed. “That’s not how anything works.”

Steve scowled.

“And if you’re wrong and die I can’t yell at you, so no.”

Steve couldn’t interpret the face Bucky was making right then, looking from the phone to Steve, and back again.

“What?” Steve barked, starting to feel uncomfortable. The guy hanging from his grip twitched and Steve pressed down a little harder. He was busy, damn it.

“You are sweet, you know?” Bucky said before reaching out his metal arm for the phone. He wriggled his fingers. “Metal. No DNA. Now give me.”

“What if it’s, like, coded to sense your metal signature?”

Bucky’s voice turned flat and hard. “Give me the phone.”

“Under protest,” Steve grumbled, but handed it over. Bucky did know more about pretty much everything than Steve, considering Steve remembered pretty much nothing.

Bucky clicked through the phone with his metal hand, his brows furrowing. Then he focused on their captive and growled, “Who told you to give this to me?”

His captive sweated purposefully and tried to avoid eye contact. Growling again, Steve shook him, and he squeaked. 

“We both know you’re going to talk, so talk.”

“Listen, I don't know okay? I’m just a messenger. I was told to deliver this phone to him and that’s it. I swear!”

“A messenger who gets into top secret meetings,” Steve sneered. “Told by _who_?”

“It was a memo! A standard S.H.I.E.L.D. memo!”

Steve blinked slowly, then turned to eye Bucky.

“You going on some mission I don’t know about?”

“I’m not doing any missions right now,” Bucky answered slowly, staring blankly at the phone. He was thinking, but so was Steve. Was this the message they had been waiting for? The orders Bucky would get now that everyone thought Stark was dead?

“I don’t get a say when there’s a level seven clearance code, okay? They say jump and I jump. I was told, explicitly, not to be seen by anybody. Not even you,” the guy looked to Bucky, “and definitely not him!”

“Steve, let him go,” Bucky said, but Steve ignored him.

“JARVIS, who is this guy?”

“Austin Kallen, S.H.I.E.L.D. clearance level two, assigned as personal assistant to Department Head Melinda Blare.”

“How often do you get level seven clearance memos?” Bucky, chimed in, his frown still in place.

“I’ve never gotten one before. Look, just let me go,” Austin begged. “I was just following orders!”

Steve might not have remembered anything from his past life, but this situation struck him as odd. It didn’t make sense that someone clearly not used to, or cleared for, high level information was tasked with such a mission. He looked the guy over again, trying to see why he’d be chosen. He was of average build. Not overly fit, but not in a bad shape either. Ordinary. Definitely unused to physical confrontations; the place stank of nervous sweat and he had yet to meet the guy’s eyes. Steve would have chosen someone like Natasha or Clint for this kind of job. Someone confident and, above all, _experienced_. The only value he had was being scheduled to be here, in the Tower.

“JARVIS, do any other diplomats have lower clearance level than him?”

“No sir. Agent Kallen has the lowest clearance level of our guests.”

The edges of something important hovered just outside of his grasp. There was a pattern here. There had to be, he just wasn't seeing it yet.

“You’re expendable,” Steve murmured, not truly paying attention to Austin or Bucky. 

The guy who ordered the hit on Tony was in a position to know details about Steve that were not accessible to the general public. Bucky had said so, had been rather freaked out, as much as he ever was, about how much he knew about Steve and how closely he was watched. Whoever it was, Steve knew it wasn’t the Avengers. They were his, in a way that he felt deep in his bones, and he trusted them. It was in their scent, and how easy it was to like them. However, the Avengers did not exist in vacuum. They worked closely with S.H.I.E.L.D., hence today’s show-and-tell arranged specifically to calm the big wigs in the other organisation.

Bucky and Tony had been right. Whoever this guy was, he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. He had the clearance to send this memo, the one that had their new friend delivering Bucky a message. The message they had been waiting for now that everyone thought Tony was dead.

And it meant that whoever he was, he’d be getting a report on how Steve acted now.

“Steve,” Bucky said, his voice weirdly gentle, “let him go.”

Confused, Steve looked to Bucky and watched his eyes flick to Austin. Oh, right, he’d just said the guy was expendable and no one could hear his very reasonable thoughts that made the statement anything other than a threat. Should he be insulted? Steve wasn’t sure, but he knew he could use this to their advantage.

Tightening his grip on Austin’s throat, the agent choked and Bucky took a step forward.

“Steve!” Bucky hissed, sounding urgent, “I can't get rid of the body in the middle of this Tower! There are too many cameras and sensors! And Jarvis would tattle!”

“Tell me who sent you that phone,” Steve growled. “Who is it? Who in S.H.I.E.L.D. is courting you?”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He looked truly surprised and Steve was happy for it. It made the scene all the more convincing, even if he would need to placate Bucky later.

"They think they can have you, just because the bond is broken, but they can’t.” Steve choked Austin a little more and the guy flailed, scratching at Steve’s wrist. “You’re mine.”

“Nobody is courting me,” Bucky sounded bewildered by the accusation, too surprised to be angry.

“That’s not a mission phone, Bucky,” Steve growled louder, longer, and Austin pissed himself again. “Who are you talking to that you don’t want me to know about?”

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. He either swallowed some kind of response, highly unlikely from his obstinate Omega, or finally caught on to Steve’s ruse. If he was very unlucky, it was something else that would come back to bite Steve in the ass. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“I am talking to plenty of people, but I am not being courted by one!” Bucky sounded angry, his chin tucking against his chest, his fists curling at his sides as anger conquered the surprise.

“Bullshit,” Steve snarled, and Bucky actually twitched at the aggressive Alpha, “Tell me.”

Gaze flicking to Austin, Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Let him go, and I’ll tell you.” Steve shook Austin, just to make him squeal in fright. “Steve…”

“I’m not letting this go,” Steve growled. “I am not letting you out of my sight for a second. You are mine. _My_ Omega. We are bonded, whether you accept it or not.”

Bucky took another step forward, putting a hand on Steve’s chest and the other on his arm.

“I’ll tell you, just let him go.”

Fairly certain that was enough of a show, Steve dropped Austin and watched the poor agent scramble for the door. He tripped, launching himself headfirst through the swinging portal, and then disappeared. Steve, in case Bucky hadn’t gotten the message after all, tilted his head back, twisting to show his Omega his throat.

Bucky looked taken aback a second time, his brow furrowed, but the tension that had been steadily building for the last few moments was already dissipating. His eyes flicked from Steve’s to his neck as he licked his lips. Finally he stepped back.

“Uh, Steve,” Bucky was so unsure, so very much not like himself. “You do know I am not going behind your back, right?”

“I know,” Steve answered, letting his chest vibrate with a soft purr. His heart squeezed as Bucky tried to reassure _him_ , but he had to be certain Bucky knew he wasn’t actually angry. “I never thought it. I was…”

“Putting on a show,” Bucky’s shoulders dropped and he heaved a sigh of relief. “You surprised me, going off at me like that. I thought it was odd, but… Yeah, okay. Why did you go off like that anyway?” Bucky looked around the small space. “Here?”

“It’s them; you were right.” Steve stepped closer to his Omega again, brushing his fingers across his cheek. “Whoever he is, he’s with S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s going to read a report today about how Captain America thinks his mate is cheating and won’t let him out of his sight. There’s no way they’ll doubt why I’m with you now.”

Bucky’s lids lowered until he was hiding his eyes. His voice lowered as well, dropped into the soft growl that did things to Steve. “That was some quick thinking.” 

Dragging his hand down Bucky’s jaw, to his neck, Steve licked his lips and struggled to keep from using that hand to rip Bucky’s shirt off so he could get at his skin.

“Anything on the phone?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, settling his hands on Steve’s hips. “They’ll probably text after that report of yours.”

“So…” Steve licked his lips. “Now what?”

“Sir’s, I would like to remind you,” JARVIS sounded just a tiny bit chiding, “there is an official meeting you are scheduled to appear at in ten minutes.”

Steve genuinely liked JARVIS, but right now? Right now he wanted to smash his many cameras and microphones into little pieces. Bucky’s fingers on his hip twitched and then slowly left. Steve already missed the contact.

“Bad timing, I guess,” Bucky murmured, his eyes still focused on Steve’s lips.  
“And you wonder why I was so keen on killing that guy,” Steve grumbled, taking a step back from Bucky. They were too close, their scents mixing, and while Bucky’s warmth radiated through his clothes, he would never get sex out of his mind standing this close to his Omega. He took another step back and focused his eyes above Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky laughed unexpectedly.

“I’m always keen on killing somebody.” 

He was smiled, a wry little uptic to his mouth that made Steve want to _lick_ him.

“We should go,” Steve was surprised by how breathless he sounded, “before… we can’t.”

“You first,” Bucky said mentioning to the door. 

Steve stepped towards it, then paused, glancing back to ask, “Are you asking me to go first so that you can stare at my ass?” 

Bucky’s smile widened.

“I do love to watch you go.”

Laughing, shaking his head, Steve put an extra swing into his hips as he stepped back into the hallway. 

\----

The phone went off during lunch. An innocent, generic chime that didn't register at first. Then Bucky reached into his pocket to retrieve the new phone, unlocked it, and pressed his lips together in a hard line. 

“Who is it?” Steve asked.

Bucky turned the phone so that Steve could see the screen. 

Blocked: Good job on the first assignment. Acquire this item and deliver to me within two days. Will send coordinates for delivery twelve hours before meet. Details in attachment.

Bucky waited until Steve nodded that he read the message before scrolling down to the attached picture. 

At first glance, Steve thought it was the artefact stolen from Avengers’ vault during the first assault, the one that cost him his memories. The strange structure of the rock itself was clear even on the tiny picture, the odd way it reflected the light distinctive. Then he realised it was a little bit different. Where there were protrusions on the stolen piece, this one had holes. 

“It looks a lot like the thing that was stolen from the vault,” Steve said aloud, pulling the phone closer to him, “but it’s not the exact same piece.”

“It looks familiar,” Bucky mused, frowning as he pulled the phone from Steve and looked at the picture again, “but I can't remember why.”

“Maybe you saw it in the vault.” 

“No... not _that_ vault.” He glanced up at Steve. “I didn’t know the Avengers had a vault until it was broken into.”

“Then what vault are _you_ talking about?”

Lowering his head, Bucky avoided Steve’s eyes while his lips twitched.

“Uh...”

“Wow, that’s descriptive.”

Bucky growled. Steve grinned.

“That’s even more helpful.”

“Where is all this sass coming from?” Bucky grumbled. “And why is it at my expense?”

“Because you are such an easy target, I can’t help myself.” Steve leaned forward as Bucky huffed out a tiny laugh. “But more importantly, you’re being evasive. Cough it up.”

“So… how much of my more recent history have you been informed about?”

“Only what you told me, pretty. I told you, I don’t wanna read about you in a file.”

Bucky blinked.

“Seriously? Nobody tattled on how I did so wrong by S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Steve shrugged.

“Not that I’d have let them, but no.”

Bucky exhaled harshly.

“Long story short, when the last bond with my handler didn’t take, I freed myself from Hydra’s control and basically went after them. Thing is, all I had were the clothes on my back and the weapons I liberated on my way out of the compound.” He shifted, obviously uncomfortable with recounting the story, even with as little detail he was giving. “As much as I wanted to destroy Hydra, they were all I knew. So the first few months, a year really, I spent… stealing.”

“Stealing?” Steve prompted, because Bucky didn’t look to be getting on with his story on his own.

“Yeah, everything I could get from them. Ammo, ordinance, money, gold, artefacts. I took absolutely everything I could get my hands on. Thing is, I quickly realised I had much more than I could possibly use. So I stashed it.”

“You stashed it in a vault,” Steve said, understanding where Bucky was going with this.

Bucky nodded.

“Many, many vaults. Cellars. In one instance, an old missile silo.”

Steve leaned back.

“Tell me, are they in America at least?” Bucky shook his head. “Great,” the thought of having to traverse the world to look through each and every hidey-hole in search of a piece of rock was not what Steve would call fun. “So… do you know where you hid this thing?”

“I think so?” Bucky so did not sound sure about it. “I mean, there’s one not far away that has a lot of junk, so there’s a good chance it’s in there.”

Steve watched him for a moment, realizing that his Omega could possibly be a closet hoarder.

“What I find interesting, is how they know you have this item when you can barely recall it.”

“I don’t know. I stole items and data, but I didn’t always look at what I got. I just… they had it, they guarded it, so I wanted it for myself. It didn't matter to me what it was, just that it was theirs. I cleaned out their bank accounts for that same reason. Just to take it. If that makes sense?”

“They must have access to Hydra’s files.” Steve rolled his neck, letting the bones adjust. “When they couldn’t find it, they just assumed you stole it. So when do you want to leave?”

“Tonight. The faster the better. They want me to be an obedient little assassin, better not disappoint them.”

“Wouldn’t now be better than tonight, then?”

“Have to get the cats organised.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ll drop them off with Michael. He’ll watch them.”

Bucky smiled; a wicked little grin.

“Do you think Natasha likes cats?”

Climbing to his feet, Steve shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter if she doesn’t. Hope she’s not allergic.” Walking around the table, Steve brushed a kiss over Bucky’s cheek. “Get me packed? Not sure what to bring.”

“Okay.” Bucky looked at him with dark eyes. “You really have no second thoughts about leaving the Tower?”

Pausing, instead of going to gather the kittens and supplies as he’d been planning, Steve gave Bucky a long look.

“Why would I have second thoughts, pretty?”

“You are leaving your pack here.”

Steve swallowed, then knelt next to Bucky’s chair.

“Bucky, they’re my pack, but _you’re_ my Omega. Nothing matters to me like you do. Don’t you know that?”

Bucky was still looking at Steve like he was a stranger.

“You were adamant about the pack and you being a package deal. And I guess, memories or not, the pack bond still exists.”

Frowning, Steve took Bucky’s hands in his, both flesh and metal. He turned them over, squeezing gently, then brushed his lips across Bucky’s fingertips. At this moment, he wished he could remember so he’d know why Bucky seemed so uncertain.

“I can’t tell you about before, but I know this: I care for them, I care about them, and I would never want to leave them for anything less than this. Than for someone who is my whole world.”

“It’s not that I want you to choose,” Bucky said quietly, curling his fingers around Steve’s. “I just don’t want to be the reason you leave. I don’t want…” If the face Bucky made was any indication, this whole conversation was difficult for Steve’s Omega. “I don’t want you to resent me for making you pick.”

“This isn’t a choice, Bucky.” Steve leaned forward, his knees brushing Bucky’s shins. “I’ll always choose you.” Tightening his hold on Bucky’s hands, he asked, “Don’t you know _why_ I was so upset before? I had their attention, all of it. I didn’t have _yours_.”

“They make you happy.”

“They do,” Steve conceded, “but you’re still my mate and you make me happy. They have to accept that.”

“As long as you don’t regret it,” Bucky slid his fingertips over Steve’s skin.

“Not for a second, okay?”

“Okay.”

Leaning up, Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s lips. He didn’t linger, only because then they’d _never_ leave, but he wanted to badly. Bucky tasted like their lunch, but also sweet, with a little bit of spice.

“I’ll get the cats,” Steve said, then stood. He wasn’t completely convinced Bucky believed him, but that his Omega was willing to work with him was giving Steve hope for the future. 

The conversation lingered with him as he tracked down one kitten after the other. With a pack, he expected that his chosen mate would be part of such a tightly knit group. To learn that Bucky was basically an outsider had been a shock, but it seemed to have been working. It could be working now, too. Bucky hadn’t made any demands, or conditions this time. He hadn’t gotten angry or defensive. In his awkward way, he even seemed worried about Steve. It made Steve feel warm inside, loved, but also impatient. He was a grown man, one damn hard-to-kill man apparently, he definitely knew what he wanted. And what he wanted was Bucky.


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky drove them out of the City and into upstate New York. After a few hours, they left their stolen truck at the end of the a dirt road. The winter chill had faded as spring was on its way, but the air was still crisp. Four hours’ hiking through the bare forest later, Bucky stopped. He was mostly sure this was the right place, but last time he’d been here had been in the middle of summer. The forest looked so different on the cusp of spring, most of the trees were leafless branches barely budding. The scent of mold and wet bark hung heavy in the air, obscuring most of the other scents he could have used to place them. Bucky had done his best to hide the entrance to the vault, planting trees and bushes so the ground vegetation would cover it. 

True to his word, Steve was gamely following Bucky; no complaining, no questions. The way Steve obviously trusted him to get them where they needed to be, left Bucky with a surprising amount of warmth.

Bucky knelt and shrugged off his backpack and pulled out the fold-up shovels he was carrying. He threw one to Steve and focused on unfolding his own.

“We digging?” 

Even though he asked, Steve was already shrugging off his own pack and setting it against one of the trees.

“Yeah.” Bucky looked around the small clearing again, trying to orient himself. “Here.” He stomped the ground hoping for something solid under his foot. All he got was a wet squelch. “There should be concrete somewhere under this mess.” He gestured to the layer of old leaves rotting away beneath their feet.

Steve murmured, “Very precise,” while shoving the sharp end of his shovel into the dirt.

“It’s been years since I was here last!” Bucky said defensively, forcing the shovel into the ground. “I’m pretty sure we’re in the right place.”

“Pretty sure.”

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, yanking the shovel out again since he’d hit nothing but dirt.

“How deep would the concrete be?” Steve asked, and when Bucky looked over, he already had a four-foot deep hole going on his side. Jesus, the guy was fast.

“Two feet at most.” 

“Well,” Steve said slowly, “Not here.”

Bucky grinned.

“Obviously.”

Steve huffed out a laugh.

“Shut up.”

Without having to say anything, Bucky found they were performing a standard grid search. They were stabbing the ground, forcing the shovels into the damp earth, hoping for a ping of concrete. It was Steve who found it on his fourth try. He was messy already, specks of dirt covering his front like particularly ugly polka dots. The ringing caused by the metal shovel striking metaphorical gold was loud enough Bucky looked up from his own work. Steve was shaking off his hand, the now-bent shovel by his feet.

“Did you break it?” Bucky asked, ambling towards him. His own legs were muddy to the knees, every step squelching loudly and grating on his nerves.

Steve looked wide-eyed and scared, like a kid caught being naughty by his parents.

“The concrete?” 

Bucky snorted.

“The _shovel_.”

Steve looked down at the decidedly bent tool.

“A little?” 

Cautiously, he picked it up and tried to straighten it. The metal screeched horribly as Steve unbent it with his bare hands. Bucky had to stare for a second, appreciating the sight of his Alpha mauling steel. The shovels weren’t flimsy, for all that they were able to fold into tiny squares.

Bucky shook himself.

“Let’s clear the entrance off.” Bucky positioned himself next to Steve and started digging carefully, so as not to break it. “It’s three feet by three feet.”

They worked quickly, shovelling the layer of soil away. As dirty as they were from their hike, they quickly turned into a pair of extras from a horror flick. The work wasn’t too difficult, though, the entrance being so small and soon the concrete and metal hatch was exposed. Bucky pushed through the mud clinging to the indention housing the locking mechanism, wincing at the filth around his fingers. When he felt the latch, he pressed down, but it had been a long time since anyone had entered this place. The plates on his arm rearranged, powering up to give him enough leverage to unlock the old catch. The resulting click reverberated through the small clearing.

“Well, at least you didn’t get us lost,” Steve said. “You got a shower down there?

“Nope,” Bucky said as he yanked the hatch up. It went with a groan, raining debris inside the opening as Bucky let go. The entrance was just a black hole with a simple metal ladder attached to the side disappearing into the darkness. It was a an abandoned missile silo, from back before the Cold War had officially ended and America started dismantling their nukes. Someone had bought it from the government and Bucky had gotten it at a steal under a false name. Private property with a hidden entrance; it was a perfect bolt hole.

Steve pulled glow sticks out of his pack, broke two, and threw them into the darkness.

“Into the hole?” 

Bucky laughed.

“Yeah, into the hole we go.” He pulled his pack onto his back. “I can restore power once I’m inside. No way to do it from the outside.”

“Smart.”

Getting his foot on the ladder, Bucky swung himself down, then dropped into the hole entirely. He landed with a thump that echoed through the tight quarters. When he moved out of the way, Steve climbed down behind him, stopping to pull the hatch closed. With it uncovered, a hiker might find it, but it was very unlikely. No one came out here, and the property was ringed with barbed wire and _No trespassing_ signs.

Breaking out flashlights, Bucky handed one to Steve, and then set off down the tunnel toward the generators. Everything was bleak grey concrete, with no doors leading off their path. Eventually their tunnel branched into two, heading left and right. Bucky chose right.

“This leads around the silo,” Bucky explained. “They launched their missiles just on the other side of this wall.”

“Missiles?” Steve repeated. “There are _missiles _here?”__

__Bucky laughed, then bit his lip, glancing back at Steve._ _

__“Not any more. Guess I didn’t say where we were, did I?”_ _

__“No, not really,” Steve said dryly. “Apparently there were missiles at one point.”_ _

__“This was a nuclear silo,” Bucky tapped the wall to their left. “If Russia attacked, they’d shoot one of their bad boys out of this place. It was decommissioned and sold off a decade ago. I bought it and stashed everything I could find here.”_ _

__Steve hummed._ _

__A door finally appeared on their left and Bucky pushed it open with a creak. It took no time getting the generator started and they were able to turn off their flashlights as bare bulbs in wire cages burst into life in even spaces down the hall._ _

__Leading the way back into the hall, Bucky continued to the right and Steve soon said, “We’re heading down. The floor curves down.”_ _

__“Missiles are very big, Steve,” Bucky teased._ _

__“Ha ha,” Steve sighed and shifted his pack, “How far?”_ _

__“We’ll be walking for a while.”_ _

__“No elevator?”_ _

__Bucky rolled his eyes._ _

__“I disabled it. Elevators are strategically unsound.”_ _

__“Whatever you say, Buck.”_ _

__Unable to decide if he was being made fun of, Bucky led the rest of the way in silence. It was quite a while, the silo having been deep in the earth. The lower level was their destination, though, so it wasn’t as though they had other options. Formerly the control room, barracks, and storage facility for the silo, Bucky had renovated these rooms for human habitation. This wasn’t just his vault, after all, it was also a safe house. One that would have kept him off S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar for a good, long time, if they hadn’t caught him first._ _

__“I installed a water recovery system,” Bucky said as they reached what was once the control room. It looked out onto the darkened hole that used to be the launch pad. “There’s food supplies that should last a few months if you don’t care about the taste.”_ _

__“If I don’t care?” Steve stopped looking about and focused on Bucky. “Am I staying here?”_ _

__Bucky turned face him fully._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“You said if _I_ care about the taste. That’s implying I’m using those supplies, Buck.”_ _

__“Since when are you a grammar hound?” Bucky asked, bewildered. “You, me, one, whoever, whomever; don’t care.”_ _

__Huffing, Steve rolled his shoulders and grumbled, “Since I wouldn’t put it past you to leave me here for my own good.”_ _

__“...Okay,” Bucky said cautiously. “No more information for you. It clearly doesn’t serve you well.”_ _

__“Oh, swell,” Steve said with false cheer, “glad you’re reassuring me you won’t leave me here.” Making a face, Steve stepped past Bucky, going further into the former control room, and pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. “Jerk,” he added fondly._ _

__“Me? You are the one acting like a wolf with a sore paw.”_ _

__Steve peeled his lips back from his teeth, baring them at Bucky before growing playfully._ _

__“At least I’m not wearing red,” Bucky muttered, walking again. Pointing to the left he said, “That leads to the old barracks. Food’s in there. This way,” he stopped at the door heading to the right, “is the vault.”_ _

__The door itself wasn’t high tech. There simply wasn’t enough power to sustain any kind of electronic locks. If anybody had found the place, they would have opened whatever lock he’d installed here anyway. He wasn’t guarding the place. So he just used an old fashioned combination lock with clock mechanisms. All Bucky had to do was to spin the wheel, provided it wasn’t completely rusted._ _

__Bucky grinned when the dial turned effortlessly, then quickly entered the code. With a flick and a tug, the lock opened and the door swung inward._ _

__“Wow,” Steve said, staring over Bucky’s shoulder, “it’s the biggest odds-and-ends drawer I’ve ever seen.”_ _

__Okay, so Bucky might have gotten a tad bit enthusiastic about acquiring Hydra’s belongings. There was no need to make fun of him. Not that Steve seemed to have gotten that memo._ _

__“Like you remember seeing _any_ odds-and-ends drawers,” Bucky grumbled._ _

__“No, no, I’ve seen one. I have a junk drawer one in my apartment. This is definitely bigger.”_ _

__Growling, Bucky stomped into the vault and started hunting for the rock that they were here for._ _

__“I liked it better when you were scared of me.”_ _

__Steve laughed._ _

__“Pretty, I’m terrified of you.” Hands caught Bucky’s hips, pulling him around and into Steve’s arms. “I just also know you have a soft spot for me.”_ _

__Flushing, Bucky ducked his head, but didn’t immediately tug himself free of Steve’s arms._ _

__“I could still kill you with my pinky.”_ _

__Lips brushed across Bucky’s forehead._ _

__“I have no doubt.”_ _

__Trying to ignore they way his stomach was feeling, Bucky turned, and pulled the first box blocking the path towards him, and opened it. A brief look inside confirmed there was no rock. He looked around the cramped vault; this was going to take a long time if he had to go through every fucking box in the place. There was a bit of space on a shelf, so he stuffed the box there._ _

__“Good news, the rock is most probably here.”_ _

__“And the bad?” Steve asked._ _

__Bucky looked at him very seriously and said, “The rock is most probably here.”_ _

__Steve looked again at the messy space, filled ceiling-high with boxes, the shelves overflowing with various containers._ _

__“Right.” Steve shrugged his jacket off. “You start on the left, I start on the right. Whatever box you check, put it outside so that we don’t check the same one twice.”_ _

__Without a better plan in mind, Bucky nodded and they set to work opening boxes, rifling through containers, and shifting everything outside the storage room. At least, Bucky thought, their super-stamina would keep them from getting exhausted. It wouldn’t keep them from getting bored._ _

__After half an hour, Steve growled, “The fuck is half this shit?”_ _

__It didn’t quite sound like a question, but Bucky answered, “Plunder.”_ _

__The burst of laughter that met his ears warmed Bucky to his core, and got him through the next hour of boxes. Maybe, just maybe, he had gone overboard. He could have gotten rid of some of this shit, destroyed it or sold it. In his defense, he had been busy seeking revenge._ _

__The next box Bucky opened was filled with jewelry. He pulled out a diamond necklace and considered it._ _

__“Steve, do you want any jewelry?”_ _

__Without turning, Steve said, “I don’t remember. Do I want any jewelry?”_ _

__Bucky didn’t roll his eyes. See, Michael? He could act like a reasonable adult._ _

__“Steve, do _you_ want any jewelry?"_ _

__At last Steve turned, and Bucky extended the hand holding the diamonds._ _

__“Jesus,” Steve blurted. “It really is a pirate’s treasure trove in here.” Never one to avoid an opportunity to touch Bucky, Steve stepped behind him and wrapped both arms around his waist. Steve was still looking at the gems; they made his eyes sparkle. “It’s pretty, but I have no feelings about them otherwise.”_ _

__Bucky looked down at the diamonds. Shame, he’d liked how they’d made Steve’s eyes look. He chucked them back into the box; they might come in useful eventually. Maybe he could make them into cufflinks or such. If it was the feminine design that didn’t appeal to Steve, he could fix it._ _

__“You are hard to shop for,” Bucky complained._ _

__Steve laughed._ _

__“This is not shopping.”_ _

__“I don’t know, Steve. It felt a lot like shopping to me,”_ _

__Teeth scraped along Bucky’s ear, and shivers danced along Bucky’s spine._ _

__“You wanna give me a gift, huh?”_ _

__“I have all this stuff. I can share with you.”_ _

__Not that he would share with anybody else. He had paid in tears and blood for every item in this vault; in all the vaults he had hidden away. This was all his and god help anybody who tried to take it away from him. Yet, giving it to Steve was easy. He didn’t feel a shred of reluctance offering his spoils to him. Strange, but pleasant nonetheless._ _

__Steve, of course, just had to be difficult about it and didn't even appreciate the diamonds. Bucky thought they were cool, dammit._ _

__The arms around Bucky’s waist tightened._ _

__“I’ll take the diamonds, pretty.” Steve’s lips brushed his throat. “Dunno what I’ll do with them, but I read that a pirate’s treasure is special.”_ _

__“You could wear them,” Bucky murmured, tilting his head back to give Steve more room. “It’s a very nice choker.”_ _

__“For you, I’ll wear them,” Steve purred, the vibration going through Bucky’s chest so he missed the arm leaving his hip until he heard it digging through the box. “You want me to wear anything else?”_ _

__“Steve,” Bucky leaned back against his Alpha, “we have a mission.”_ _

__“No one is here,” Steve breathed, his lips trailing kisses along Bucky’s neck._ _

__Bucky reached back and put his hands on Steve’s hips, wishing Steve had worn lighter clothing so he could feel his warmth. He could still feel the power of his frame, the muscles stretched over hard bone._ _

__“We have… to find the rock.”_ _

__“It’s not going anywhere.” Steve’s voice was dropping into the registers that sent shivers down Bucky’s spine._ _

__Swallowing, Bucky turned in Steve’s arms and grabbed the necklace from his hand._ _

__“I don’t want you wearing anything else.”_ _

__Steve’s answering grin was fierce, triumphant, and Bucky wasn’t surprised when he was swept up into his arms. He just wrapped his legs about Steve’s hips, his arms about his neck, holding on as he was carried out of the vault, through the control room, and to the door Bucky had said had been the barracks. With Steve’s arms full, Bucky yanked the door open himself._ _

__“Put it on me,” Steve said as he carried him into the barracks. Bucky had removed most of the beds, but two bunks remained for Steve to choose from. As Steve laid him down, knee between his legs and leaning over him, Bucky wrapped the diamonds around his throat, then clasped it in place. The contrasting white gold and pale diamonds sparkled in the halogen lights with a cold fire, casting little sparks of colors against Steve’s pale skin. It filled Bucky with a sense of possession, nearly violent in its intensity. He loved his mark on Steve, loved the feeling it gave him to put pretty things on him. The delicate connections and intricate shapes were painfully fragile against the power of Steve’s build._ _

__Sitting back, Steve hurriedly yanked off his clothes, but didn’t go for Bucky’s. Instead, he sat back, sliding his hands down Bucky’s thighs as he settled between them._ _

__“How do I look?”_ _

__“Really fucking good,” Bucky rasped through a throat gone dry. He closed his hands into fists, not sure he could do what he wanted. This felt hot and wicke, and Bucky really wanted to fuck Steve right now._ _

__“Yeah?” Steve smiled slowly, hands brushing along the diamonds edge. “What d’ya want to do to me, now that I’m wearing them?”_ _

__Licking his lips, Bucky tried to decide. He wanted to put Steve face down, ass up on this bed and fuck him silly, but then he couldn't see the diamonds. Granted, Steve’s back was a work of art, but choices... They were so hard._ _

__“Come on, Buck.” Steve’s hands slid up his thighs again, over his hips, then grabbed his fisted hands and pulled him up. Up and over, until Bucky was leaning over Steve as he settled onto his back, looking up at Bucky with brilliant eyes. “Tell me what you want.”_ _

__“I would guess that’s obvious.”_ _

__“Maybe,” Steve said, sliding a hand along the neck of Bucky’s tactical vest, over his pulse, “but I want you to say it._ _

__Bucky put his knee between Steve’s knees and nudged, his breath catching when Steve’s legs parted easily._ _

__“I want to feel you from the inside.” Bucky lowered himself so that his flesh arm was straining, just inches from Steve’s lips. “I want to push you down and fuck you over and over, until we are both wrecked. I want to see you flushed and panting, naked but for the diamonds I gave you.”_ _

__Yes, that is exactly what he wanted. He wanted to take Steve, have him over and over, until they both were sated._ _

__“God, yes,” Steve sighed and tugged hard at Bucky’s vest, “Get _on_ it.”_ _

__Bucky swallowed, trying not to be so surprised. Whatever had been done to Steve was supposed to make him pure Alpha, not submit to him. It was supposed to make him want to fuck _Bucky_. He wasn’t going to deny himself, though. _ _

__He touched the intricate choker, dragged his fingertips from the cold diamond to the hot skin of Steve’s neck, and down to his chest, to spread his hands there. The power of the bones under the layer of muscle made his belly tighten with desire and he admired the awe-inspiring stretch of Steve’s chest and span of his shoulders. The necklace looked positively tiny on him and Bucky had the urge to drape more jewelry on him, wrap him up in gold bracelets and necklaces, shower him with diamonds, and then fuck him while he wore his gifts, his signs of ownership._ _

__Steve’s belly trembled under his touch as Bucky slid his hand over it, then even lower. Steve’s cock lay plump, but soft, against his thigh as Bucky reached out to comb his fingers though the patch of dark blond curls around it. Scratching gently at the skin, he smiled when Steve’s cock twitched at the attention and fattened a bit._ _

__“You are so fucking pretty,” Bucky murmured. “Unbelievable.”_ _

__“That’s my line.” Steve chuckled, apparently done waiting for Bucky to strip and tugging at the straps and buckles holding him into his gear. “God, I want you so bad.”_ _

__Bucky didn’t bother with responding. Really, Steve was so pretty, and his cock was even prettier. Bucky ran his fingers over the slight swell where the knot rested dormant. He wondered if Steve could get it up for him even without the bond. Wrapping his hand around Steve’s knee, Bucky pushed it aside so that he could fit himself neatly between Steves legs, close enough to grind his own very interested cock against Steve’s._ _

__“Clothes,” Steve snapped, impatient fingers making quick and not gentle work of Bucky’s shirt. “Seriously, off.”_ _

__Bucky huffed and then ground into Steve again, enjoying the shock of pleasure at the friction, even through the clothes separating them. Then he pulled off and stood up. After making quick work of his boots, he pushed his pants and underwear off in one shove, not caring as the cloth stung his skin. Already fully hard, his cock slapped against his belly._ _

__He couldn’t take his eyes away from Steve, sprawled naked and golden on the bed, wearing his diamonds. He loved that Steve stayed how he left him, legs splayed, letting Bucky see all of him; his quickly hardening cock, his balls tightening, and the unbelievable length of his legs. Bucky was sure Steve had legs prettier and longer than any woman. It was unfair._ _

__Like Bucky, Steve wasn’t looking away. His gaze was drinking Bucky in, each inch of skin, while licking his lips. He stretched, muscles flexing beneath his skin, and Bucky nearly tripped to get back to the bed. Jesus, it was like his dick was made of metal and Steve was magnetized. No matter what Steve remembered, even without the bond, Bucky was wrapped around Steve like string._ _

__“Lube?” Steve asked as Bucky slipped between his legs, pulling those long stems about his hips, and Bucky froze. It was only for a moment, because that tension of muscles had caused another reaction. Slick leaked down his thighs, staining his skin in an invisible line. The heat in his belly, in his hole, was something he was familiar with from his time with Steve, and had missed. But it had been a while since he had reacted so viscerally to Steve. The desire had been there, but muted by distrust. It flared now, staining him with the proof that his body recognized Steve as his mate, with or without the bond._ _

__Breathlessly, Bucky said, “Got it covered.” He wasn’t about to let Steve think too much about anything except Bucky’s touch. Steve wasn’t about to wait on him, though. He reached out, hands closing on Bucky’s shoulders and pulling him down into another, filthy kiss. Steve opened up under him, letting Bucky fuck his tongue into his mouth the way he wanted to fuck him with his cock. It blew his mind how tightly Steve was wrapped around him, one long leg hooked over his hip, pulling Bucky down so that they ground their cock’s together. Fingers dug into Bucky’s shoulder, none too gentle and so clearly wanting._ _

__Bucky let himself drag his hands over Steve’s chiseled chest - which had starred in more than one of his dreams - and closed his hands over the pecs so defined they were almost like tits. Grabbing two handfuls, rubbing the perky nipples between his fingers, he made Steve squirm and pant under him, unashamed of his desire. He was lifting his hips to fit them both together, kissing him filthily, and Bucky couldn't help himself. He dragged his lips off of Steve, trailing a wet line down his cheek and then to his neck, where he could mouth at the edge of the necklace and Steve’s smooth skin._ _

__Struck by an urge he didn’t try to resist, Bucky grabbed one of Steve’s arms with his metal hand and brought it up, over his head, before pressing it to the bed. Steve let out a small, strangled sound, but _let_ him. More than that, he brought his other arm up, laying it beside the first, while looking up at Bucky with dark eyes._ _

__“Like this?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Bucky rasped, overwhelmed by the heat that struck him all over again. God, he _wanted_ Steve. “Exactly like that.”_ _

__Leaning down to kiss Steve again, Bucky distracted him while swiping his hand between his own legs, coating it with his slick. Then he pressed his fingers between Steve’s. He rubbed the slick over the soft furl of Steve’s hole and Steve’s hips hitched up, pressing against Bucky’s fingers. God, he was eager, open, and willing. Bucky couldn’t remember him ever being quite this vulnerable. He kept rubbing in hard little circles that had Steve gasping and spreading his legs even wider. That reaction got Bucky so hard it hurt._ _

__They moaned in tandem as he pressed the finger in, unable to wait any longer. Steve was tight and hot, clenching against it as if he couldn’t get enough of it. Bucky couldn't help himself, he growled and bit down on Steve’s neck, gnawing gently at the tendon under his teeth. Shouting, Steve arched into him, and Bucky thrust his finger in and out, deep and hard, leaving a line of bites down Steve’s chest to his perky, pink niples. He sucked one into his mouth as he paused the vigorous fingering to add more slick to his hand._ _

__Lubricated again, Bucky pressed two fingers against Steve’s tight, eager hole. Steve reached out to grab Bucky before remembering to keep his arm above his head, jerking it back into place. He did it again as Bucky’s fingers sank deep, and Bucky pressed hard against the arm he’d captured._ _

__Steve cursed, frustrated, and grabbed Bucky’s hair, fingers fisting tightly._ _

__“I swear,” Steve growled yanking on Bucky’s hair, “if you don’t hurry, I will…”_ _

__Bucky didn't wait to hear the threat, and just pushed his fingers inside Steve hard and fast. Thrusting them, stretching Steve as best as he could, considering how impatient they both seemed to be, he had Bucky shouting and writhing. Steve’s cock was hard, the tip damp and dragging over Bucky’s abs with every squirm, every twitch, and wriggle. The scent of Steve’s arousal, his sweat, and their sex was thick in the air._ _

__He pushed in the third finger too fast probably, but Steve didn’t complain, only gasped and yanked at Bucky’s hair again._ _

__“Now?” Bucky asked, leaving Steve’s nipples alone to bite at his lips instead._ _

__Steve sounded almost murderous when he growled, “Get the fuck in me,” and it made Bucky laugh._ _

__Grabbing Steve’s thighs, Bucky hoisted him up, moving closer, and lining their bodies together._ _

__“Yeah,” he rasped out, slicking his own cock, and shuddering against the feeling, balls tightening at how ramped up he was already. Yet he kept slow, taking the first thrust deep in one long movement that ended with him pressed up against Steve’s ass, eyes crossing with how good it all felt. Steve was hot and slick, silky walls clenching against him like a vise._ _

__“Fuck,” Steve groaned, drawing out the vowel into a long, deep moan._ _

__Abandoning all pretence of posing for him, both Steve’s arms reached for Bucky, clamping on his ass and pulling him even closer. Bucky managed an incredulous little laugh, not ready to believe just how good being inside Steve felt, Steve’s easy openness, his _want_._ _

__“Jesus fuck, you are incredible,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. He pulled back to thrust in again, deep enough that their balls slapped against each other and Steve’s breath was punched right out him again._ _

__Bucky braced his metal hand on the bed, the steadiest thing he had, and held onto Steve’s thigh with the other. He was only mildly aware he would be leaving bruises on Steve’s hips: marks of this claiming, of finally being with his mate again. The longer they went, the deeper they’d grow. With Steve’s healing factor, they’d heal soon, but for tonight they’d languish, bold and bright, on his skin. Making him Bucky’s. That thought drove Bucky wild, his hips pistoning into Steve over and over. Beneath him, Steve shouted, his hands clawing at Bucky’s shoulders, his head thrown back in ecstasy. The long line of his throat ended with Bucky’s diamonds, another mark of his possession, and Bucky shouted, shocked and startled, as he came without any more warning._ _

__Slumped against Steve’s huge, heaving body, pressing his nose against his sweaty skin, he snuck his tongue out to taste flushed skin. The familiar taste was pleasing, like a warm, feeling of light through the bond._ _

__“Damn.”_ _

__Bucky was still shaking, tiny aftershocks of his orgasm travelling down his back in random intervals. He dragged his fingers up Steve’s thigh and his side, enjoying the smooth skin and hard muscles beneath. Steve radiated heat like a furnace, gently twitching and clenching around Bucky’s softening cock, making Bucky shiver each time. He was hot and tight, so smooth and just _so_ good. He rubbed his cheek against Steve’s chest, leaving a bit of beard burn behind because his stubble was coming in already._ _

__With a soft sigh, Steve ran his nails up Bucky’s back, then said, “You done?”_ _

__Bucky laughed._ _

__“Such a charmer you are.”_ _

__“Well, I don’t want to put you out,” Steve drawled, “but I’m not done. Mind if I… take over?”_ _

__“You want to fuck me?”_ _

__Bucky rubbed his cheek again against the smooth stretch of Steve’s chest, enjoying the rasp of his stubble against surprisingly delicate skin. Steve was so pale he carried marks beautifully._ _

__“If… you don’t mind?” Steve said, suddenly hesitant. “I mean, I do have a hand I can use.”_ _

__“I’m slick enough already,” Bucky admitted, too relaxed and fucked-out to care much about pussyfooting around._ _

__With something that sounded like a prayer of thanks, Steve rolled them over without any more warning. Bucky’s softening dick slipped out, and he let out a small moue of regret. He liked it inside Steve, hot and tight, but he had to admit he also liked it as Steve took charge, cradling him. He leaned Bucky against the bunk, then took his thighs and spread them apart._ _

__This was much easier than Bucky liked to admit to himself. It was always easy to let Steve inside his body. Easier than anyone else. And Steve was so gentle, wrapping Bucky’s legs around himself, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him tight. Then he was guiding himself in, pressing against his slick, dripping entrance, and pushing in._ _

__“Oh, Bucky,” Steve sighed, eyes half-closed, going in slowly, but without hesitation. The sound it made was obscene, a slick shlop that shot a line of heat down Bucky’s belly, his soft cock twitching with renewed interest. Steve was big, stretching him to the point of pain, but never tipping over that line. Bucky liked that stretch, an ache that felt amazing._ _

__Steve kept sinking in, pushing slowly, until he was sheathed entirely inside Bucky. Bucky panted against the stretch and sensation of Steve inside him. Laying his hand over his still-soft cock, pressing it against his belly, his breath hitched. He would get hard soon enough; he could feel it. Over him, Steve was shuddering and gasping, giving Bucky a thrill of power to have reduced Steve to this mass of shuddering flesh._ _

__“Slick enough for you?” Bucky murmured, clenching deliberately around Steve’s cock. He loved how deep it was and how far it had stretched him._ _

__“So good,” Steve gasped through his ragged breaths, hands sliding from Bucky’s legs to his belly, then up and over his chest. He hesitated where the metal plates melded into Bucky’s flesh, a flash of pity in his eyes, before it passed, replaced by pure desire. “You are so damn sexy.”_ _

__“I know,” Bucky said confidently, prompting Steve to laugh through a moan as he began to pull out._ _

__“And you,” Steve thrust in again, hard and deep, making them both moan, “teased _me about being charming,”__ _

___Bucky bit his lip, hitching his hips higher to meet Steve’s thrusts for the angle he preferred. The next one slid over his prostate and Bucky exhaled explosively, hands flying out to lock on Steve’s forearms. His cock jerked and started hardening; as oversensitive as he was after the first orgasm, he loved this feeling of achy sensitivity with hot trickles of pleasure. His cock filled in, dripping against his belly._ _ _

___“Fuck,” Steve cursed, slipping out entirely. From the look of consternation on his face, he sure as hell hadn’t meant to, but Bucky loved the feeling when Steve breached him again. He was overflowing with slick, his thighs smeared and dripping down his crack, messing the sheets beneath them. He was always ridiculously wet when Steve fucked him, his body so eager._ _ _

___Clenching down on Steve and staring up at him, Bucky admired the sight of his heaving chest, flushed neck, and the sparkling diamonds decorating his skin. Bucky enjoyed his jewelry on Steve with an intensity that surprised him. He wanted Steve naked and wearing whatever gold and jewels Bucky had given him - on his neck, his wrists, his ankles. Anything and everything - gold, diamonds, sapphires, topaz. Everything Bucky could get his hands on._ _ _

___“Stop being so careful,” Bucky growled, locking his thighs around Steve’s hips and clenching down against him as hard as he could, eliciting a shuddering gasp and strangled curse. “Give it to me, goddammit.”_ _ _

___Steve growled, frustrated and on edge, but he obeyed. Bracing his elbows on the bed beside Bucky’s head, trapping him in a cage of muscle and skin, he practically folded Bucky in half. Then he started moving, grunting with every hard thrust. His cock dragged over Bucky’s prostate over and over, as Bucky’s cock jerked fitfully against his belly, leaking a line of precome. He clutched at any part of Steve he could reach, trying to hold on._ _ _

___It didn't take long. Steve yelled out his orgasm into Bucky’s neck as the bed thumped a staccato rhythm against the concrete wall. Bucky did his best to cling to Steve’s shoulders, holding him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He shudder against Bucky, cock swelling and jerking inside Bucky’s body as hot splashes of come filled him. Steve turned his head, kissing Bucky clumsily so they were panting against each others mouths, sharing breath more than kisses._ _ _

___Jerking away, Bucky gasped, “Steve,” and stared at his mate, stunned. Bucky could feel Steve still getting bigger inside him._ _ _

___Steve didn’t look like he knew what was happening. He’d closed his eyes and wore a slack expression of pleasure. It was impossible for Bucky _not_ to notice. He squirmed, the half-folded position constricting his insides so the slowly expanding knot put pressure exactly onto Bucky’s prostate. He couldn't hold still. His cock leaked and jerked between their bodies because he was so close to an orgasm already. Something, anything, would push him over the edge… _ _ _

___With a gasp, Steve shifted, pulling his cock out so the hard swell of his knot pulled at Bucky’s rim. It wasn’t big enough yet to be locked inside Bucky, and though he whined and thrashed, Steve could have pulled free. Instead, Steve recoiled and pushed in, hard, thrusting his cock and growing knot deeper. Thrusting both against his prostate._ _ _

___Intense, focused pleasure had Bucky shouting. It was too much, so much, so _good_ ; he came, muscles contracting, cock shooting between them. The orgasm was so fierce it was painful, leaving his muscles pulsing rhythmically, all rational thought lost. When it passed, he was left shuddering and twitching in the aftershocks. Heat crawled around his spine, a liquid lassitude that was the physical response to being knotted. And he was. As long as the Alpha had his knot up, Bucky’s arousal would only grow, nature's way to even out the score._ _ _

___“Bucky...” Steve sounded strangled. The flush on his face intensified and his pupils dilated to steal all the blue of his irises. “Bucky… I.”_ _ _

___“You.”_ _ _

___Bucky writhed, trying to relieve the pressure against his prostate. It was impossible. Steve was thrusting again, small, involuntary jerks that drove his knot against Bucky. He was so big already, too huge to hope to get out. They were stuck, stuck until the knot went down. The damn thing felt so hot and so heavy inside him. Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head._ _ _

___“Utter -”_ _ _

___And he was coming, again, from nothing but Steve’s knot so deep inside him he thought he was going to feel it in his throat. He had enough presence of mind to fist his metal hand in the sheets instead of Steve’s flesh as he arched, convulsing as the pleasure took him beyond coherent thought. Steve’s weight on top of him was all that kept him on the bed._ _ _

___“- bastard,” Bucky whispered as it subsided, and he could finally focus on Steve’s strained, worried face. Bucky thought he was trying to keep still, his hips were only twitching every so often. It wasn’t like he’d be able to manage it completely, not now. Not with Bucky’s body clenching down again and again on his knot._ _ _

___“Bucky, I don't know… How long?”_ _ _

___Judging by the guilty expression on his face, Steve had no idea what was happening. Bucky had no idea how one could manage to look guilty while so hot and bothered. A dark red flush strained Steve’s face, spilling down his neck and chest so the diamonds flashed stark and pale._ _ _

___“Hours,” Bucky rasped, gingerly shifting his legs. Steve followed as much as he could in their current position, but the little shifts of his knot had Bucky clenching his teeth, the pleasure bordering on pain. Oversensitivity was settling in, a feeling he both loved and hated. It made him so needy. Since Steve just looked shocked, he added, “So you might as well enjoy it, since we are - hah - stuck together anyway.”_ _ _

___Bucky was trying to be serious, but he couldn't help the giggles that escaped him at his own words. It didn't matter if Steve had his memory or not, because his hatred of anything pun-related seemed to be a constant. As Steve’s lips twisted into a sour pout, Bucky laughed harder._ _ _

___“Did you get to come?” Bucky asked bluntly, distracting Steve. They were literally stuck in this situation, they might as well have fun. And Bucky had to admit, even as the ache in his ass grew, that he had missed this._ _ _

___Steve shook his head, the guilty look returning, and Bucky reached out, trying to ignore how his hands were shaking._ _ _

___“Fuck me,” Bucky said. “Shove your knot in as deep as you want.” He tangled his fingers into Steve’s sweaty hair. “I can take it.”_ _ _

___For a moment, Steve hesitated, biting his lip and searching Bucky’s face. He must have found what he was looking for, because he shuddered, moaned Bucky’s name, and didn’t hold back. Bucky did the only thing he could: he fell into it, helpless as Steve’s knot brought him never-ending, cascading pleasure._ _ _

___He lost track of it, his world narrowing down to Steve’s body over him, the stretch and pulse inside him, and the sounds of their moans and gasping breaths. How many times he came, how many times Steve came, he couldn’t have said._ _ _

___What he remembered, later, was Steve’s hands on him, gentle and tender, even as he took his pleasure again and again. There was no bond, nothing for Steve to feel and know what he needed, but he never disappointed. When Bucky needed a break, Steve nuzzled his neck and temple. When he needed the building tension to end, he’d speed up, pushing them over the edge together._ _ _

___Bucky didn’t notice as it ended, or when Steve pulled through. There was a lessening of the ache inside him, but a different one left behind. He was being held, hands caressing his heated skin, and a voice murmuring in his ear. The voice - Steve - wasn’t saying anything in particular, just talking, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Bucky liked it, liked how safe he felt here, and didn’t fight too hard to come back to himself._ _ _

___When he did rouse, Steve was saying, “If you hadn’t showed me this place, I would have never found you. Not if you had decided to hide here.” His hands were tracing intricate patterns on Bucky’s skin, alternating feather-light brushes of his fingertips with the tingling scratch of his nails. Everywhere they traveled, Bucky’s skin tingled like tiny fireworks going off along his nerves. Every muscle in his body was relaxed in a way Bucky couldn’t remember feeling. Not ever. “No one would find us if we wanted to stay. No one would know we’re here. We could just disappear… Get the kittens and stay, just you and me…”_ _ _

___“Are you talking about... running away?” Bucky stretched his legs, working out the residual ache in his hips. This kind of talk… Steve, his Steve never talked like that. There was his work, his responsibilities, his leftover guilt that Bucky could never understand, and an internal drive to do things. He never talked about just going away to live underground in a bunker with Bucky. Bucky wasn’t sure what to feel about it. It made him realize that he was invested in his life with Steve as he had been before, more than he expected. This though? It felt good to be a center of somebody’s life and the focus of their attention._ _ _

___“I… Yes.” Steve kissed his nose and Bucky twitched it in response. “I know it’s not realistic, but the thought is nice. Just you and me and no responsibilities except a couple fluff balls that love us to pieces.”_ _ _

___And their spawn, Bucky thought, but _this_ Steve didn’t know that Bucky was, most probably, going to spawn in some unspecified time frame. Who knew when, considering both their serums. “No bad guys, no other Omegas putting that look on your face, no Alphas making me twitchy. It would be… nice.” Steve looked thoughtful and added, “No Alphas making _you_ twitchy.”_ _ _

___Bucky let himself imagine it for just a moment. Days on end of just him and Steve, the cats destroying shit left and right before coming to snuggle and pretending to be innocent. Steve yelling and chasing them, half-playing, half-irritated, only to pet them to death when he’d caught them. It _could_ be nice, he thought. It would also drive him insane within a week. With startling clarity, Bucky understood - truly understood - how much he liked his life at the Tower. He liked the space offered to him, the ability to wander out and become lost in the city and coming back on his own terms. Even the Avengers; he wasn’t friendly with most, but he could relate to them in ways he couldn’t to anyone else. It just hadn’t been so clear when he’d been there. Distance afforded him an insight he would never have expected. _ _ _

___Huh._ _ _

___“It shouldn’t make me happy to see how much you dislike my idea, but it does, weirdly enough.”_ _ _

___Bucky bit Steve on the shoulder._ _ _

___“Hey!” Steve shouted, but wasn’t actually trying to pull away. “What’s that for?”_ _ _

___“You are awfully sure of yourself,” he grumbled._ _ _

___Another thing that was starting to dawn on Bucky was that he’d had sex with this Steve. Did it count as cheating? Was it cheating? Or was it like having sex with his Steve, just… drunk? He mulled the question over and couldn't come up with an answer other than that Alphas were goddamn problematic._ _ _

___“So?” Steve huffed, carding his hand through Bucky’s hair and resettling him against his shoulder. “Is it such a bad thing I’m trying to get to know you? Mercurial though you are, I think I’m understanding a lot of you.”_ _ _

___“Yeah? Like what?” Bucky asked, genuinely curious. From his experience, they usually had problems with seeing things the same way. It had always ended with his Steve hurt more often than not. This Steve was similar, but at the same time different. He was less… burdened, less willing to put his own desires behind everybody elses. He wondered if it translated to how he saw Bucky._ _ _

___“Like…” Steve sat up, leaning his head on his hand. “Like the way your lips tighten when you dislike something. Your eyebrows twitch when you’re surprised.” Immediately, Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. How dare they not follow protocol. Steve laughed. “Yeah, like that. You talk slower when I’m upset, or you think what you’re saying will upset me. Hmm…”_ _ _

___Bucky settled his head on his arm._ _ _

___“In my defence, you are easily upset.”_ _ _

___“I appear to be an emotional person,” Steve said without rancor. “I think that’s why we get along, you know. You’re an angry person, I’m an angry person…”_ _ _

___Licking his lips, Bucky willed his heart to stop beating so fast._ _ _

___“I am,” he said, feeling strangely light at the admission. He liked that Steve saw him in such a simple light._ _ _

___“You made that anger your power and your shield.” Steve reached out and ran a finger down Bucky’s throat. “You don't want to let it go at all, do you?”_ _ _

___“You’ve been paying attention.”_ _ _

___Bucky lifted himself up, slung his knee over Steve’s hips, and pushed while sitting so Steve lay on his back, Bucky leaning down to stare into his face. Bracing his hands against Steve’s stomach, he expected Steve to grab his hips, or… something. Instead he just smiled and linked his hands behind his head, smiling up at Bucky._ _ _

___“Had a lot of time on my hands,” Steve murmured._ _ _

___“And you spent it thinking about me?”_ _ _

___“Mostly. I thought of us, and me, but mostly you.”_ _ _

___Bucky bit his lip, locking his knees around Steve’s hips. The Alpha wasn’t moving without him knowing first. He curled his toes and relaxed them, briefly considering rewarding Steve with more sex, even though he was pretty well fucked out already._ _ _

___“And my anger didn’t bother you?”_ _ _

___Raising an eyebrow, Steve tilted his head to the side._ _ _

___“I told you when it did, but I don’t think that’s what you want to know. I think you want to know if I mind that you’re so angry, that you have to have control even now.” Steve wriggled his hips beneath Bucky, “And no, I don’t mind. You want my opinion?”_ _ _

___“For a long time, a good Alpha was a dead Alpha. That didn't mean I wouldn't have sex with them beforehand. But yes, I want to hear what you think.”_ _ _

___Steve smiled, like Bucky wanting to hear his thoughts was some sort of praise._ _ _

___“I think you were hurt a lot.” The smile died. “And I think your defenses are important, and I think you care enough about me to try to change them when they’re destructive and _that’s_ what matters. The rest? The rest is just who you are and… I’m…” Steve hesitated suddenly, looking uncertain and wary before he said slowly, “fond of who you are.”_ _ _

___“Fond?”_ _ _

___Quietly, Steve said, “I don’t think you’ll be happy if I say it.”_ _ _

___Bucky tightened his knees against Steve sides and raised his arms up, gathering his hair off the nape of his neck to twist into a half knot. It was too hot for him. He never broke eye contact with Steve, watching him watch Bucky. There was a quiet intensity in Steve’s eyes, a possessiveness that Bucky, strangely, didn’t mind. Not yet anyway._ _ _

___Steve moved at last, taking hold of Bucky’s hips. He didn’t force Bucky to move, though, just keep his hands there, big and warm. For a man who was all Alpha instinct, he wasn’t bothered by handing control to Bucky, by letting Bucky have the dominant position. It was, admittedly, making Bucky hot._ _ _

___“Why?”_ _ _

___“Because I’m not him.” Steve sighed, thumbs brushing along Bucky’s hips. “I didn’t want to talk about him. That was incredible; can I say that? Can we talk about that?”_ _ _

___Bucky stalled, humming to himself. He missed his Steve, missed him horribly, but it was getting easier to see this current Steve as a different man. His Steve rarely talked about sex beyond what he would say during the act._ _ _

___Bucky ground his ass against Steve’s groin, just enjoying the contact. “You want to talk about sex?”_ _ _

___“No,” Steve grinned slowly. “I want to talk about sex _with you_. Not like I’ve had sex with anyone else.”_ _ _

___Bucky froze, every single muscle locking, leaving him nothing but a marble statue._ _ _

___“What did you just say?” he whispered._ _ _

___“That I liked sex with you. It was my first time, but I’m pretty damn sure it was spectacular.”_ _ _

___First time._ _ _

____First time._ _ _ _

___First, goddamn, time. Bucky was a fucking idiot, and he was off of Steve and yanking the blanket off the bed to wrap himself like he still had some kind of modesty. Though he looked surprised, Steve didn’t try to stop him._ _ _

___First fucking time, again!_ _ _

___And Bucky had missed that _again_ , had gone to town without a second thought. _ _ _

___Again!_ _ _

___“Bucky -”_ _ _

___“Again!” Bucky snarled, the blanket tangling about his legs. Bucky yanked it hard enough to tear, then wrapped the rest around himself like armor and paced in front of the bed angrily._ _ _

___“Again?” Steve repeated, slowly sitting up. “Bucky… tell me what’s going on.”_ _ _

___“Again,” Bucky confirmed, so angry with himself he was incandescent. “Goddamn virgin _again_ ,” he growled so low it hurt his throat, “and I missed it. Again!”_ _ _

___“I’m… not following.”_ _ _

___“You!” Bucky pointed his metal finger at Steve, so disturbed he was panting. “You should have told me!”_ _ _

___This was better. It was all Steve’s fault. Clearly. He paced a few more times to express the energy coiling in him._ _ _

___“Told you?” Steve repeated, his face screwed up with confusion. “Bucky, when did you think I’d managed time to fuck someone else? You haven’t let me out of your sight, or JAVRIS’s.” Bucky opened his mouth to throw some names around, but even he could understand that Steve really hadn’t had the time or opportunity. He closed his mouth with a snap and paced some more. “Besides that you’re the only one I’ve wanted, or trusted, for most of this… situation.”_ _ _

___“But… you remember so much, all of your physical skills. I thought you might remember this too?”_ _ _

___ _

___It sounded weak even to his own ears. Bucky just didn’t think. At all._ _ _

___“Bucky,” Steve said sharply, “what does it matter? So what if I don’t remember having sex with anyone else? So what if I was a virgin?”_ _ _

___Bucky growled, agitated again._ _ _

___“First times are supposed to be special! Not a quickie on the run! Again!”_ _ _

___“Aga-” Steve swiped his hand in the air. “Bucky, that _was_ special.”_ _ _

___Bucky continued to pace._ _ _

___“It should have been more! Maybe longer?” He brought his thumb to his mouth and bit down on the nail. “How many orgasms did you have?” he asked seriously._ _ _

___“Longer? Bucky,” Steve laughed, “that was four hours. You were so blissed out afterwards, so sweet and pliant. Jesus, stop.” With a bound, Steve was off the bed, catching Bucky by his arms. “Bucky, please, listen to me. It was _wonderful_. I lost count of the orgasms.”_ _ _

___“I didn’t even blow you,” Bucky was still thinking, trying to remember how long their first bout had been and if this one was comparable?_ _ _

___Steve shook him, hard._ _ _

___“No, you draped me in diamonds and fucked me stupid.”_ _ _

___Bucky’s mind skipped to what Steve had said, honing in on the diamonds._ _ _

___“You want more diamonds?”_ _ _

___Bucky could do that. He could get Steve more._ _ _

___“Yes,” Steve softened, pulled him close and wrapped his arms about Bucky’s waist, “Pretty, I love them. I loved what we did, how intense it was, how you looked at me, how you felt, the way you sounded. I...” Steve swallowed hard. “I love you.”_ _ _

___Bucky hated that Steve’s first times were happening by accident. He’d never had a choice with his. That Steve somehow ended up having his this way was abhorrent._ _ _

___That damned expression in Steve’s eyes made Bucky want to squirm. He still could force himself to say those words, but he was slowly coming to the conclusion that the sentiment that Steve meant was something he shared too._ _ _

___“That… Me, too. I think.”_ _ _

___It wasn’t easy to say, to even think in the same terms as Steve hurt his brain. But he would try, for Steve, and because he’d taken his virginity again without a second thought._ _ _

___“Yeah?” Steve smiled slowly, shyly, pulling Bucky tight to his chest._ _ _

___“Looks like,” Bucky said tiredly. The things he let Steve get away with were mind-boggling. Without Steve remembering their past, he wouldn’t understand the scale to which Bucky allowed him, where he would kill any other Alpha in his place._ _ _

___Chuckling, Steve quickly warned him that, “I’m picking you up,” and swept Bucky into his arms. He carried him to the bed, then curled around Bucky protectively. Yet his arms weren’t tight, loose enough Bucky could get away if he wanted. “Let’s rest a bit longer,” Steve urged. “Sleep, since it’s safe here. I’ll even let you keep the blanket.”_ _ _

___Rolling his eyes, Bucky unwrapped the blanket, and tossed an edge over Steve. It wasn’t that difficult to let sleep come, not in his secure bunker. It would be harder in the cramped bed, but Steve was holding him and he was exhausted now, from Steve’s revelation and his own confession. He didn’t want to think anymore, or do anything, he just wanted to sleep._ _ _

___There would be plenty of time to deal with their shit tomorrow, but here, with Steve’s familiar scent, Bucky could make himself believe everything was all right, if only for a moment._ _ _


	18. Chapter 18

Once Bucky finally woke - and Steve had stopped aggressively cuddling him enough to let him out of bed - it took them a few hours to find the special rock they’d been sent to acquire. Steve used the word ‘special’ loosely. For all intents and purposes, the thing was a rock. A cold lump of mineral that someone had carved ugly pictures onto the surface. One thing it was was heavy. Bucky’s backpack had groaned worryingly when they’d loaded it inside. That was it’s only unique property, considering it was the size of Steve’s fist, but otherwise, like the oher rock stolen from the Avengers Tower, it was simply ugly and useless. Why anyone would go to such lengths as to take his memories and blackmail Bucky was ridiculous.

They’d left the bunker before telling their evil overlord they had the thing. Something about triangulation, but Steve wasn’t really paying attention. Whatever Bucky wanted to do was fine by him, including not sending messages from a secret underground pirate treasure trove. After the last forty-eight hours of Bucky’s attention and _love_ , it was going to take a lot to take away his happiness.

Admittedly, Steve regretted leaving the bunker behind. He’d liked it, the secret of it, the sheer outrageous design. It appealed to the same part of him that loved the idea of a pen turning into a sword. If they weren’t so pressed for time, he would have loved to stay a bit longer and just explore. In his eyes, the whole place spoke of imagination and a flair for the dramatic that Bucky didn’t freely display. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what other hidden treasures were to be found there; what else Bucky had squirreled away. There was also that other itch, to properly organize the vault. Jesus Christ, it was a mess. Bucky really hadn’t been thinking anything other than ‘mine’ as he shoved in every Hydra trophy he’d gotten his hands on.

When they were suitably away from the bunker for Bucky’s satisfaction, Bucky had texted their boss. Their success had been met with exactly zero excitement - which was rude - just a location for delivery. The latitude and longitude put their drop-off in Canada, in the middle of nowhere, if Google was correct.

“Good thing you have military GPS,” Steve had said.

“It’s a trap,” Bucky had said.

Steve had sighed, “Duh,” and that had been the end of that conversation.

They were going either way, driving non-stop northwards, crossing the border without so much as a how-do-you-do. There wasn’t much of a choice otherwise. Bucky wasn’t happy about it, but he’d let Steve hold his hand for the majority of their quiet drive, accepting his affection, attention, and contact without even a glance. Steve had reveled in it, enjoying it while he could. He wasn’t happy about walking into a trap, either, but Bucky knew what he was doing. Just as Bucky was a careful driver, keeping to the speed limit religiously, so they didn’t warrant any undue attention from the law. All Steve had to do was follow his lead and watch his back. 

Steve wished this was as simple for Bucky as it was for him. It was so easy to trust Bucky, to follow him without argument. It wasn’t as if he’d remembered anything to override Bucky’s experience. Some voice inside him told Steve he wasn’t likely to follow anyone else, though; Bucky was a special case, if a neurotic one. He couldn’t sit still the closer they got.

“No cell signal,” Bucky grumbled, hand tightening in Steve’s. 

Yeah, this was hard on Bucky. They were willingly walking into a trap, without the benefif scouting the ground beforehand, and they had no back-up. It didn’t seem any kind of comfort that they were armed, or had super powers, or that they were together. The stress and agitation of Bucky’s scent turned acrid, building up in the trapped space of the car, and there was nothing Steve could do to make it better. Nothing at all.

They had turned off the asphalt roads a while back, travelling the dirt lanes until even those had turned into barely overgrown forest tracks. Their four wheel drive was managing, mostly because it wasn’t as muddy as it had been around Bucky’s pirate cave. The way the trees and bushes kept scratching the car, the paint job would be a mess by the time they reached their target.

“I love you,” Steve whispered, startling Bucky into glancing at him and away from the trees. “And I’m not him, but you know he loves you, too.”

The blue-white light of the full moon illuminated half of Bucky’s face, casting the other into deep shadow. Both eyes gleamed.

“I know,” Bucky admitted in a voice too grim for Steve’s liking. “And it seems I’m as stupid over the one as I am over the other.” Bucky sighed, turning back to the road and squeezing Steve’s hand as their GPS beeped. “We’re here.”

There was nothing special about the clearing their road emptied into. It was a big, open field, ringed with trees older than they were. The full moon let them see a good distance, but not into the shadows, where anyone could be been waiting. Not even their headlights penetrated that deep, and Bucky’s scent spiked again. 

When the burner phone beeped, they both jumped, simultaneously striking their heads on the ceiling, likely to the amusement of anyone watching. 

Flipping it open, Bucky read the message aloud, “Don’t get out of the car.”

“So they’re watching,” Steve said, squinting into the dark, trying to see anyone and coming up empty. His skin was starting to crawl.

“What I find interesting is that the message came through,” Bucky tilted the phone toward Steve, and Steve leaned over to see there were no signal bars. No way for an SMS to have come through.

“Tony would know how they did that,” he pointed out.

Bucky gave him a long look.

“Tony is dead.”

“I’m just saying, he’d be useful if he wasn’t.”

“What did Tony have besides his brain?” Bucky mused, alternating between watching the phone screen and the dark outside.

“You’ll murder me if I answer that,” Steve said, probably too honestly, but he didn’t like lying to Bucky. 

Bucky lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head towards Steve, looking half-amused and half-challenging.

“You saying that would actually stop you?”

Snorting, Steve made himself relax. These assholes wanted them scared, and he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

“Pretty, I’d rather walk out of this car for them to shoot me than answer that question. _They’ll_ make it quick and easy.” He smiled at Bucky. “Maybe even painless.”

“You are only digging yourself in deeper,” Bucky rumbled. The shadows clung to half his face, but the way the muscle in his cheek was standing out meant he was clenching his teeth. Steve licked his lips. He liked the intensity of Bucky’s attention right now, the way he regarded Steve with curiosity and a bit of something darker. 

“Promise not to murder me.” After a panicked heartbeat, Steve added, “Or torture me.”

“I promise not to grant you an easy death,” Bucky responded with way too much relish.

“See,” Steve grinned, “that’s why I’m not telling you. You gotta learn to compromise, pretty.”

“Did you like the sex?” Bucky asked, switching from vaguely threatening to saccharine sweetness. Steve did not like that switch. At all.

“Yes,” Steve said suspiciously, “so I’d really like to not be dead so I can have more.”

“You won’t get any if you don't answer me right now.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, incredulous and exasperated.

“That’s cheating!” he exclaimed. “You’re a cheater!”

“Answer the question,” Bucky demanded sweetly.

Crossing his arms, Steve faced Bucky so he could at least see his death coming.

“Tony has - had - a nice ass.” Bucky stared at Steve, very still and silent. Steve felt the uncontrollable urge to add, “I could have lied.”

“We are going to come back to this conversation,” Bucky promised darkly. “It’s good to know just what you were looking at when you hung out in his lab. Tony,” Bucky pushed the name between his teeth, “had resources. And technology unavailable to the general public. I bet he could do this trick easily.” Bucky wiggled the phone again. “Wonder who has access to the same?”

Steve didn’t get the chance to answer. Both he and Bucky went still as they heard the whump whump of rotors off in the distance. 

Bucky murmured to himself, “And that explains how they’re going to avoid being tracked.”

The phone chimed, though they didn’t jump this time.

“They want you to get out,” Bucky said flatly. “Bring the object to them.”

Steve turned to reach for the backpack, the canvas creaking as he lifted it over the back of the seats. He didn’t like the idea, really, but it was better than having Bucky out in the open. It was better than Bucky out there, without a way to drive off to escape. 

“Steve…” Bucky started, but he shook his head.

“Buck, it’s okay,” he interrupted. “They want you here because they can control me. My brain, whatever. It’s a powerplay, so there’s a good chance we’re going to be fine. No need for power over corpses.”

“I don’t like you out of my reach,” Bucky murmured but stayed still, both hands on the steering wheel.

“I love how you want to keep me under lock and key while at the same time, you would hate it happening to you.”

“Well, I’m not the recurring virgin in this relationship,” Bucky shot back, one side of his lips quirked up. “You clearly need the protection.”

Steve sighed.

“You are not letting that go anytime soon, are you?”

“Nope.”

Steve reached for the door handle.

“They won’t hurt me. I’m no use to them dead.” Steve opened the door but did not get out yet. “You’re no use to them if I’m dead either.”

“If they kill you, I will start killing and never stop,” Bucky promised in a tight voice. For him, it was equal to a declaration of love and Steve’s heart swelled.

“I love you, too,” Steve said, before stepping out of the car. His boots squelched in the muddy grass. It was difficult, but he didn’t turn back to look at Bucky, but focused forward, watching as the helicopter blocked the moon, then touched down lightly in the empty clearing. The landing was gentle, easy, and Steve somehow knew the pilot was better than good. He only had a moment to think it, though, because the wind whipped off the rotors, pressing down the grass, making the trees roar like the ocean, and masking the sounds of the men who slipped from the forest. There were dozens of them, masked and holding assault rifles, all pointing at Steve’s chest. They had night vision goggles and body armor, moving precisely as a unit.

Hair standing on the back of his neck, Steve stood stock still. He kept his arms loose and easy, not giving them a reason to shoot. Minutes crept along, the rotors slowing, and then the helicopter door finally opened. A man dressed in a fine suit got out and jogged toward Steve. He looked nervous, not meeting Steve’s gaze even as he took the backpack from his hands and nearly fell over with the weight.

Then he just turned around and hobbled away, grunting and sweating under the strain of carrying something so heavy. Steve felt a vindictive, petty thrill at the man’s struggles. It was the only thing he had at the moment, so he relished it as the man climbed back into the helicopter and the machine started up again. Steve couldn’t see the pilot, couldn’t see anyone except that suited man as the rest had their faces covered. Reluctantly, Steve had to admit that this was a brilliant plan. If he or Bucky had tried to turn the tables, or got hurt, they were hours away from any help. If they’d learned anything about their opponents, they still had to drive for hours to even get a message out. They were helpless and their gear useless in this little clearing. What’s more, Steve was sure none of these guys were important, just hired muscle. Admittedly well-trained, but not the ones giving orders.

As the helicopter took off, the soldiers - or mercenaries - melted back into the treeline. Steve had no doubt he still had guns on him, pointed his way, and held still, counting in his head. When thirty seconds had passed, he tentatively turned back to the car. His feet squelched in the mud, the sound grating on his ears, but nobody shot at him, or at Bucky, or the car. He made his way to the car and opened the door. Bucky’s hands were still on the wheel, his head turned towards Steve.

“I’m okay,” Steve assured as he opened the door. “I’m okay.”

“That was a lot of firepower,” Bucky murmured finally taking off his hands off the steering wheel. Steve could hear the implied ‘even for us’ loud and clear.

Steve got in and reached for Bucky’s hand. “Lucky they didn’t shoot,” 

“Makes one wonder what they’ll want from us next.” Bucky squeezed the hand Steve offered.

“Nothing good, that’s for sure.”

The phone beeped and Bucky picked it up from where it lay against his thigh. Steve leaned over to see another set of coordinates, with a short message, “Supplies at next target coordinates.”

Steve took the GPS they’d used before and entered the coordinates. 

“It’s a hotel, approximately four hours away.”

Bucky sighed, looking around the dark, empty clearing. They’d driven here non-stop from the pirate cove; now they were going to have to drive for hours without any guarantee of rest at the end of the road.

“You want me to drive?” Steve offered, rubbing his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand.

“No,” Bucky shook his head, “I’m good for a while still.”

The headlights swept the dark forest as Bucky put the car in gear, then turned it around. Shadows grew and shrank, making Steve jumpy since he knew those men were out there. It wasn’t like they’d driven away. Nothing but shadows moved, however, and then they were heading back down the road, away from the guns.

“Wish we knew what was going to happen next.” Steve sighed, shifting uncomfortably in the car. “Other than a random hotel in a random small town in Canada.”

“Me too,” Bucky admitted and it was unexpected enough, he took Bucky’s hand. “They will continue to use us as long and as hard as they can, until something breaks. Even they have to know keeping us under control indefinitely isn’t possible.”

“Actually, they could be stupid enough to think just that, but we shouldn’t plan for it.” I’m going to nap, pretty. Wake me when you want me to drive, alright?”

“Get any rest you can,” Bucky cast him a quick look, “No idea when we’ll have a chance to sleep next.”

Squeezing Bucky’s hand again, Steve nodded and squeezed himself down into his side of the car until his head rested against the back of the seat. To his surprise, Bucky left his hand in Steve’s, linking their fingers together as Steve closed his eyes and began nodding off. It was easier than he expected, the rumble of the road under their tires, the quiet purr of the engine lulling him to sleep. They weren’t safe, they didn't know what was going to happen to them tomorrow, but at least they were together.

\----

“Hey.” Steve jolted, blinking up at Bucky who was leaning over him. “We’re here.”

Grunting, rubbing a hand down his face, Steve sat up to find them parked in front of a motel. It was short and squat, spreading along the edge of a parking lot, empty except for one other car. The lights were dim, the stars blotted out by the trees edging to the brink of human-engineered space and the clouds above.

“This is it?” Steve shook his head. “Glad they’re putting us up in style.”

Bucky snorted.

“Come on, we can’t rest yet.”

Following Bucky out of the car, Steve slammed the door behind himself. Bucky had their things, meager though they were, carrying them into a door with a simple deadbolt that anyone could break down. The room itself was bland, brown, and surprisingly dusty. A mauve bedspread, ratty with age, covered the only bed, and the paint was peeling off the ceiling. 

“We making bets on bed bugs?” Steve asked.

“A different kind of bug, that’s for sure,” Bucky muttered.

Steve looked around the room and thought about crawling through all the spaces that probably hadn't seen a vacuum in years.

“Oh joy,” he murmured.

Turning to the bathroom, he was surprised when it was cleaner than he expected. White tile with blue accents covered the floor, a small shower stall and a toilet were tucked into a corner, and blue wallpaper that had faded with age covered the walls. What caught his attention was a brown envelope resting on the small shelf below the mirror.

“I think this is for us,” he called out.

Leaning down, Steve concentrated on the envelope, but heard nothing and assumed there wasn’t any sort of technology inside it. When he tentatively picked it up, he was surprised that it was so light. A shake told him nothing new, so he ripped it open as Bucky peered over his shoulder. It was money; three neat stacks of twenty dollar bills, secured with simple rubber bands. Steve flipped through the bills, raising an eyebrow that they were not sequential. 

“The guy is careful,” he said, passing the money to Bucky. Steve peered inside the envelope, trying to see if there was anything more he could be missing. “Also damned secretive.” He turned to Bucky. “Aren't bad guys supposed to monologue about their plans? Spill everything early?”

“Only in the movies,” Bucky muttered, squinting at the money like there might be a note scribbled into the margins. Tossing his hair out of his eyes, he dropped the bills onto the counter and turned back to the room. “Now for those bugs.”

Turning back, Steve watched Bucky go into the room. When he picked up the radio, Steve leaned against the bathroom’s door jam. He was clearly out of his element, watching Bucky tear the back of it out and start pulling out parts. More than anything, Steve wanted to know what the hell Bucky was doing, but he held his tongue. The speaker, the wires, Bucky fiddled, long brown hair hanging in his face, focused intensely on his work. Steve could never get tired of watching the way his metal arm worked, the fingers especially. Logic said digits made from metal would have trouble with grip and dexterity, especially when working with tiny elements, but they didn’t. It looked almost like magic, the flex and ripple, the movement and flex so similar to muscles.

When Bucky looked up, shaking his hair out of his face, he held up the speaker, some wires wrapped around batteries he’d taken out of the remote, and other bits and pieces of the dismantled radio. 

“You wanna tell me what that is?” Steve asked.

Bucky just gave him a long look.

“I told you. Bugs.”

“Uh huh,” Steve said slowly. 

“Listening devices send out a signal, and this should be able to pick up the interference well enough to tell us if there’s any electronic device broadcasting a signal.”

Steve only listened with one ear, too busy staring at the way Bucky stretched to wave the crafted device over every nook and cranny of the room. His jeans tightened nicely about his thighs, showing off heavy muscles and Steve felt a shiver run up his spine. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been between those thighs, feeling them pressed to his sides. He couldn’t believe how willing Bucky had been, how welcoming. He bit his lip as he watched Bucky repeat the process on the next wall. God, but he loved what they’d done in that bunker; having Bucky inside him, all power and confidence. He’d loved being inside Bucky just as much, feeling the heat of him, enjoying his easy and confident body. And the knotting, that had been beyond anything he’d ever imagined. Steve had no idea somebody so prickly and constantly angry could be so sweet in bed.

Bucky paused, the radio stretched high, and turned his head enough to look at Steve from the corner of his eye.

“Are you perving on me right now?”

“Of course I am,” Steve said with a grin. “Perks of not knowing how to do that.”

Bucky’s face performed a complicated series of twitches Steve couldn’t understand because he could only see half of. It looked immensely entertaining, though.

“Continue,” Steve gestured vaguely at the next wall. “You are doing real good. Looking real good, too.”

“Again with the orders,” Bucky snorted, but he did turn back to his work. “You just wait ‘til I’m done with this.”

“I’m quivering,” Steve promised solemnly, “in my boots, even.”

Bucky made a sound suspiciously like stifled laughter, but returned to his work. Steve let his eyes roam freely over his thick gorgeous body. From the exciting spread of his shoulders, to the swell of his butt, and over the shapely thighs. He wanted to feel all that skin under his hands again, wanted that body over him. He wondered if Bucky could be convinced to bend Steve over the nearest piece of furniture and fuck him, or if he’d be amenable to being bent over himself. 

Bucky suddenly turned away from the last wall he was inspecting, threw the device onto the bed, and marched towards Steve with a thunderous expression on his face. 

“You,” he hissed and Steve lifted his hands in innocence, “are a menace.” 

Bucky growled, fisting his hands in Steve’s shirt and yanking him down. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, Bucky’s temper shining through. Steve curled his hands on his hips and dove into the kiss, giving as much as he got, licking and biting at Bucky until they had to part for breath.

“We bug free?” Steve asked, holding on to Bucky’s hips.

“Just one huge leech left.”

Steve laughed, but the sound was interrupted as a phone rang in the room. It was a shock, but Bucky’s reaction was even more so. He lept a foot in the air, spun about, and hurried to one of their duffels. He rifled through it as the ring continued, loud in the otherwise quiet room, and then produced a flip phone glowing with green light.

Without a word, Bucky opened it, then held it to his ear. No greeting, just narrow-eyed focus as he listened to someone on the other end. Then he growled, low and long, gaze flicking to Steve as he stepped closer. 

Bucky growled, “Fine, Clint, put him on,” as Steve reached his side.

“Who is it?” Steve asked, wanting to reach for Bucky, but not willing to touch him just yet.

“Tony, apparently,” Bucky said, still just as angry as when he’d snapped at Clint, “He has something important to say, so Clint called for him.”

“And you’re angry, because…?”

“Because Clint isn’t supposed to give anyone this number,” Bucky grumbled. Then he sighed, stepped into Steve and leaned against him. Steve smiled, taking the hint and wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “If Clint did it, though, there will be a good reason. Tony,” Bucky suddenly said, “this had better be good.”

After a beat, Bucky sighed and took the phone from his ear, pressing a button.

“There,” Bucky said stiffly.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony said, his voice oddly pitched. It took Steve to realize he wasn’t enthusiastic, but tired. Hurting, Steve guessed. “You two sitting down?”

“Yes,” Steve lied, since he wanted Tony to get on with it so he could go back to kissing Bucky.

“I figured out what’s wrong with you!” Tony shouted, at last putting some cheer into his tone. At his side, Bucky tensed, and Steve tightened his arm about him. “It’s a bit of a good news, bad news situation. But the most important part is that I actually know what is happening to Steve. At least, I think I know?” Tony sighed, the exhaustion returning. “Doesn’t matter. I know how to fix it.”

“How?” Steve said, because Bucky was so quiet.

“It’s all robots, microscopic robots. Angry little fuckers. I found them in that spinal fluid sample we got, which is why we couldn’t find them before.” Steve rubbed the back of his head as it tingled. “They’re gumming up your works, blocking your neurons, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Tony,” a feminine voice said distantly, “tell them how to fix it and come back to bed.”

“Okay, Pep,” Tony said easily, “A big electric shock should fix you up. Something strong. Thing is it’s dangerous. We don’t know how your healing factor works with electricity, and we’re talking a shock big enough to stop your heart.”

“You want to fix Steve by killing him?” Bucky demanded. “That’s insane, even for you.”

“They’re nanites,” Tony argued as Steve’s mind spun, “they’re probably running on the electricity in Steve’s brain, but they’re still just robots. A good surge of electricity will overload their teeny, tiny circuits.”

“And stop his _heart_ ,” Bucky snarled.

Steve tuned them out as they really started arguing, looking about the room. There wasn’t exactly anything powerful enough with to electrocute himself with in this place. The television was the biggest object, but the lamps might work as well. Maybe.

“And how do you expect to restart it? Did you think of that, Tony?”

“That’s what CPR is for,” Tony said dismissively.

“No, Tony, CPR is for maintaining blood and oxygen circulation manually until proper help arrives! It has an extremely low chance of actually restoring heart action by itself.”

The outlets had potential, but the _wires_ behind them held even more. They wouldn’t even be that hard to get to, just bust down the drywall, tear them out, and grab hold. Surely if there was enough electricity to power the room running through the walls, they’re be enough to give his brain-bots a jolt?

“Well, shock him again,” Tony snapped. “Rob an ambulance. Do you want Steve back, or not, Barnes? Because I was pretty damn sure you wanted him back.”

Kissing Bucky on the forehead stopped whatever was about to come out of his mouth. Steve didn’t say anything, though, just headed for the wall by the bed where he could see an outlet. Steve put his fist through the wall above it and ripped out a chunk of drywall. The wires were where he’d expected, bundled together and innocuous looking. 

“Steve!” Bucky turned towards him, the phone forgotten in his hand. “What the _hell_? What do you think you are doing?”

More than anything, Steve wanted to turn around, tell Bucky he loved him one last time. That would give Bucky enough time to stop him, though, and he didn’t want to be stopped. Bucky loved him, he’d said, so he wouldn’t ask Steve to do this. Hell, he wouldn’t _let_ him if it was so dangerous, but he also wanted the bond back. Steve wanted him to have it, he’d seen the look in Bucky’s eyes when he spoke of it. He would not deny him something he cherished so much.

Grabbing the wires, Steve yanked and smiled when the ends flopped out of the hole. For a moment, he’d worried they would be as insulated as the rest, but the tips gleamed silver and copper in the light, frayed from whatever they’d been connected to.

“No!” Bucky barked, launching himself at Steve.

Two hundred pounds of muscle collided with Steve’s back as he grabbed the stripped end. A jolt went through him, making Steve shout, and they collapsed back against the wall, the wire ripping further, tearing a furrow through the wall.

With a look of panic twisting his face, Bucky yanked the wires from Steve’s hand and flung them aside.

“Ow,” Steve managed, because it was all he could do to let Bucky know he was okay.

Bucky was making a sound like an enraged bear, a straight-up roar. His face was red as he yanked Steve away from the wall, shoving him against the bed.

“You fucking bastard! What did you think you were doing?!” Bucky was shaking him, hard enough to make Steve’s teeth clatter. “You could have died!” 

His flesh hand slipped from Steve’s now-bruised shoulder. Shakily, Steve wrapped his hands around Bucky’s wrists.

“I’m okay, Bucky I’m okay. I… nothing changed.”

“You didn't even wait, you goddamn moron!” Bucky was trembling, rage making his face red and blotchy. “You could have been gone in just that one second!” 

“Bucky,” Steve said, hands and toes hurting, but otherwise fine, “I’m here. I’m fine. It wasn’t strong enough.”

“Not for lack of goddamn trying!” Bucky shook him again, his metal arm all the grip he needed to rattle Steve’s brain.

“I don’t think you can shake them out of me,” Steve complained, staying limp and rattling like a doll, because he thought anything else might bring the bear back.

“It’s only a theory.” Bucky sounded just a little calmer. “Tony hasn’t tested it. We have no guarantee you will survive this. You can’t just…” 

Bucky let go of Steve suddenly and lurched to his feet in the same move. He went across the room and punched it, his metal fist going straight through to the bathroom. Tiles clattered on the other side, raining down on the floor.

“I have tested it!” the phone shouted. “It will work! Come on Barnes, you actually think I’m trying to kill him?”

Bucky whirled on the phone like it was the enemy, all his rage coming back in an instant, directed at the small device and the voice at the other end. Steve was glad Tony wasn't there because he wasn’t sure he could stop Bucky from tearing Tony’s heart out.

“Want? No. Not stop to think long enough about the consequences of your actions or possible risks? Hell yeah, I do!”

“Steve has the super-serum,” Tony said with something close to patience, “he’ll be fine.”

“And it’s serving him so well right now, no memory, and bleeding from his goddamn ears!”

Sighing, Steve climbed to his feet and headed for the bathroom. His hand was covered in dust and he was honestly curious how broken Bucky had left the only nice part of their room. It wasn’t like he had much to contribute to the conversation. He agreed with Tony, obviously since he’d tried to follow through on his plan. He wasn’t normal, wasn’t human, and there were _robots_ crawling around his _brain_. The more he thought about it, the creepier it sounded. 

Admittedly, Steve was a little surprised at the absolute vehemence of Bucky’s argument. For all that Bucky yearned for his old mate, Steve hadn’t expected him to refuse any risk to Steve’s life. Definitely not this flat out denial he was hearing now. It warmed him, the knowledge that Bucky didn’t want to lose him as he was, no memory and no hope of it returning. Perversely, that fact made him want to get those memories back all the more, and it was just a _risk_ of his heart stopping. There was no guarantee.

He could hear Bucky yelling at Tony, plenty of obscenities mixed in. There was something about this being a small town, and not having its own ambulance service, and other things that must have been references to events from Tony’s life. Steve just shook his head, peering about the bathroom. The tiles were shattered outward, though only one had been broken entirely. It was minor, at least compared to what they’d done to the rest of the room. 

At the sink itself, Steve paused, hand reaching for the faucet. Water conducted electricity, he remembered. A shock that wouldn’t kill a man, was exponentially worse if the man was wet. Heart pounding, Steve washed his hands as planned, and the roar of it drowned out Bucky’s rant. This would work, this would give Bucky what he wanted, and the man wanted so little. The man had suffered so much, he deserved to be happy, he deserved a mate that had all their history, all their shared memories, and the only bond Bucky had ever chosen for himself. As much as Steve loved that Bucky had admitted his feelings towards his current self, he couldn’t ignore that that same knowledge brought Bucky pain. He was in love with two men; he deserved to have just the one.

Hands dripping, Steve walked out of the room, past Bucky, and grabbed the dangling wires.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted again, but it was all he heard. Pain lanced up and down his arm, his entire body becoming rigid as electricity flowed through him. Something cracked and popped, and Steve was suddenly far from the wall, on his back, staring up at Bucky hovering over him. Shouting, Steve realized, as his hearing slowly returned.

More than his hearing, Steve thought, as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t answer Bucky, as his vision swam. The blank nothing that had been his mind was gone, memories and knowledge there like someone had ripped back a curtain to show what had never left. The bond was back, buzzing and yelling, and it all _hurt_ , trying to sort what had happened over the past week - two weeks? - and who he had been, who he was, and what was happening right at this moment. 

Vaguely, he gropped for Bucky, catching his hand and squeezing as he shouted and pleaded. If he’d just shut up, for one second, Steve thought he could get a handle on this. On him, on them, on _everything_. Jesus, there was so much and he couldn’t put it all together at one time, not with Bucky’s shouting and the bond shoving everything at him at once.

“Steve, goddamn it, say something, or I swear I will kill you. Just choke the life right out of you and be done with this shit!” 

Something. Right. He could say something, right? 

Coughing, Steve tried to sit up, and flopped back down on the ground as he said, “I know I’m impulsive, but even I’m surprised I did that.”

Bucky stopped speaking as if some had stolen his voice, even the bond quieted as he just sat there, staring at Steve with a blank expression, mouth agape. Closing his eyes, Steve sighed and let himself think, let the last days as another man replay in his mind - or, he tried to. Bucky wasn’t keen on the idea.

“Steve?”

“Thinking,” Steve growled, opening an eye and frowning at Bucky.

Bucky had gone pale, his face draining of color until it gained an unhealthy bluish-green tint. It started reddening again before Steve could worry, but at a pace so rapid he would have wondered if Bucky was having a stroke if the rage hadn’t nearly swept him off his feet.

“You fucking bastard!” Bucky roared, lunging at him with his arms outstretched and they did _not_ aim for a hug. Steve had to scramble to catch Bucky’s wrists before his hands locked on his neck. “I’m going to choke the life right out of you!” 

Bucky kept roaring, eyes wide, thrashing to break free and apparently dead set on killing Steve. They wrestled on the floor of the motel, Tony’s voice chirping distantly, demanding an update, and Steve hurt and this was _ridiculous_. 

“Bucky!” Steve shouted, but Bucky wasn’t listening, wasn’t doing anything but making that incoherent sound of rage and attempting to reach Steve’s neck. It was taking all he had to keep that metal hand away. “I’m sorry I left you alone!” 

Bucky froze as if shot, arms going slack in Steve’s grip. Cautiously, Steve released his grip and exhaled when Bucky didn't attempt to murder him again.

“You goddamn bastard,” Bucky said, shuddery and frightened, before he stood abruptly, went to the bed, and sat down on the edge, putting his head in his hands. His hair fell forward, obscuring the whole of his face.

Tentatively, Steve rose to his knees, called, “I’m fine, Tony. Talk to you later,” and closed the phone on Tony’s protest. “Bucky?” he tried, creeping closer and carefully placing his hand on Bucky’s knee. The bond was feeding him nothing more than he could see before him: Bucky’s distress and rage and fear. “Hey, pretty, I’m okay. You’re okay. Right?”

Bucky said nothing, his head low. He kept very still, just breathing. Keeping his movements slow and easy, Steve slid his hands over Bucky’s thighs, up his hip, then pushed him gently back onto the bed. Bucky went, but didn’t look up, kept his hands over his face, which was good enough since he wasn’t pushing Steve away, violently or otherwise.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, curling up behind him, wrapping him in his arms, “I know that was stupid, but I just… I wanted you to have this. Our bond.”

“I hate you so much right now.” Bucky’s voice came out nasal. “Both of you. All of you. What the fuck ever.”

Steve nuzzled into Bucky’s neck, not arguing he didn’t deserve that. He could have at least tried to talk to Bucky, explain why it was worth it. Now Steve was left to do that after.

“That’s fair,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind Bucky’s ear, “It was pretty stupid, and I’m so sorry I scared you. I just… I loved you so much, and I didn’t want you to deny yourself what makes you happy.” Gently, he tugged at Bucky’s hands, pulling them down and away from his face. “Please, pretty. Hey, it’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay now.”

Little by little, Bucky let Steve pull his hands down from his face. Breathing a sigh of relief, he leaned over Bucky, and froze. The last thing he expected was to see Bucky’s face wet with tears, the lashes clumped and eyes shining.

“Oh, pretty,” Steve whispered, “hey, shh...” His heart ached to see Bucky so upset. Had he ever? No, Bucky had never cried before, not around him. “Pretty,” Steve’s voice broke, and he pulled Bucky into his arms, forcefully tucking his face into Steve’s neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t even hesitate,” Bucky hiccuped. “You could have died. Right here, in this goddamn room. With me watching, unable to do anything.”

“But I didn’t,” Steve tightened his hold, “I’m here, and I’m so sorry I scared you.”

Bucky shuddered.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, about you not getting up from that floor. Leaving me completely alone.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have done it like that, without discussing it with you.” Steve rubbed Bucky’s back, hoping to offer the comfort his words were clearly not bringing. “I’m here now. I’m here with you. I’m okay. I won’t do anything like that again, I promise.”

Not that Steve had a history of keeping his promises lately. Wincing, he held Bucky tighter and pressed his cheek to his hair.

“And I’m so sorry I used the voice on you again.”

Bucky pulled away, not far, but enough that his face wasn’t buried in Steve’s neck again. It felt like he was just staring instead, the bond roiling with his emotions. 

“You?”

“Yeah, pretty, I’m so sorry. I had no idea what I was doing, but that’s not much of an excuse. Must have been horrible for you, and for the record, I’m totally behind how you put me through that wall for doing it.”

“You remember what happened since the attack on the Tower?”

Steve nodded, kissing Bucky’s forehead before snuggling into him again.

“Everything. That’s what I was _trying_ to remember before you tried to strangle me.”

“But,” Bucky sounded confused, “it wasn’t you?”

“No, it was me,” Steve pulled back, taking Bucky’s face into his hands and kissing him gently, “He wasn’t me, but I’m him. I remember everything, I felt everything, I thought it.”

The bond flared with unexpected feelings: guilt on top of confusion, washing over him before Bucky tamped down on his emotions.

“Okay,” Steve said slowly, “you have to explain what just happened.”

“I…,” Bucky started and then clearly ran out of words. “I…” He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he managed in the end.

“For…?” Steve prompted, because he couldn’t think of a damn thing - “Oh. Well,” Steve growled, “I’m pretty annoyed you kept the baby a secret, but I also think I can understand why you did it, so… it’s okay.”

“It wasn’t his baby,” Bucky said gruffly, rubbing at his face to get rid of any remaining moisture. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Um,” Steve blinked, drawing a blank, “then for what?”

Very quietly, Bucky said, “Cheating on you.”

“Cheating…?” Steve squinted at Bucky, then drew back and eyed him. “Okay, we’re going to have to have some kind of conversation you’re going to hate right now, because… I have no idea what you’re talking about. It was me.”

“It was _not_ you. You made it clear that you were all but dead. There was no you, okay? I had to live with that fact, I had to accept it. What I did with him… it was not you.”

Biting his lip, Steve ran his hand down Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Is that why you were keeping me at arms reach? When I couldn’t remember?”

“You weren’t there. Someone else remained. With your face.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, watching Bucky, trying to interpret his emotions. He didn’t want to poke and push at this wound, but he couldn’t ignore how curious he was at the same time. All those questions he hadn’t been able to get answered, now he could.

“I was that different? You thought I was that different?”

“Yes,” Bucky answered. “There were similarities, of course, but you were a different person. And he got terribly upset if I so much as thought of you in his presence, much less compare him to you in any way.”

“I remember, pretty,” Steve said softly, “but you loved me, even though you didn’t think it was me?”

“Why do you think I was so angry? I had to abandon you to give him what he wanted.” Bucky paused, his breath growing shuddery once more. “And I did.” 

There was the guilt again, harsh and grating on the bond. Bucky was serious. He considered his closeness to Steve these last few day as a direct betrayal of their bond. The fact that it had been dormant only compounded the sense of strangeness for his mate.

“Yes, you did,” Steve agreed, kissing Bucky on the nose and taking a deep breath as he finally got nervous, “I need to know one thing, okay? Do you still love me?”

There was a familiar flare of dark emotions at Steve’s words, dislike very present and accounted for, but Bucky didn’t scoff out loud, or protest. He was silent before nodding, clear enough Steve couldn’t mistake it for anything else.

“It’s why I wanted to kill you so much,” Bucky added after a moment, closing his eyes, hiding them from Steve. “I can’t… You do this stupid shit, like it doesn't even matter, and I just… I hated you so damn much in that moment. So much.”

Relieved, because Bucky _loved_ him, Steve gently said, “You’ve got every right to be so mad at me, at us, but… you need to understand something, okay? He wasn’t me, you’re right about that - hated the thought of it - but I’m him, Buck. I remember all of it, remember? _I’m him_. You didn’t cheat on me, pretty. You couldn’t have.”

“He didn’t feel like you!” Bucky sounded anguished, the sudden outburst followed by silence, because Steve knew that wasn’t everything he had to say. “I liked him.”

“And I loved you for that, loved falling in love with you again. Loved watching you fall for me, become gentle for me, like you said you couldn’t. Whatever you felt then, whatever you did, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, or feel guilty about. It’s really okay.”

Bucky fell quiet again, but this silence felt better, wasn’t so charged with negative emotions. Maybe Bucky was tired of this emotional rollercoaster they were on, maybe finally even his energy was so depleted he would just accept Steve’s words. Maybe Steve had finally gotten though to him. If Bucky wasn't ready to accept that Steve before and after the attack on the Tower was the same person, maybe he could accept that Steve wasn’t unhappy, wasn’t hurt by anything he’d done.

“I like having new memories of you,” Steve said, brushing his fingers across Bucky’s sharp cheekbones, “getting to watch you with different eyes, seeing you in ways I’ve never done before. It’s like my vision was obscured, and I didn’t realise until this moment.”

“Like what?” Bucky asked cautiously, but willing to push his misery away.

“Like what?” Steve chuckled, brushing their noses together. “Oh, pretty, you’re so oblivious to yourself sometimes. You’re so damn strong, so damn brave, like even I didn’t know. You let me in, Buck. You didn’t think it was me, and you still let me in. You let me love you, and let yourself love me. You listened, you worked so hard to do better. I’ve been,” Steve sighed at himself, “I’ve been treating you like you were fragile. Like you needed protection from me, and you don’t. You showed me that.”

“I didn’t realize how much you were… handling me, until all that careful deliberation was gone. I didn’t even think how much I hated people going at my neck from behind until he tried to touch me and I freaked out. I never freaked out with you, even when you fucked me from behind.”

Steve smiled, kissing Bucky’s nose again. While his mate wasn’t quite as ecstatic, Steve couldn’t stop the swell of love and happiness that wanted to burst out of his chest.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d want me to tell you,” Steve confessed. “And I definitely don’t think we can stop that, not right away, but if you want to work on it, we can. What I want to promise you, Buck, is that I’m going to be better about talking to you, about sharing with you, and not being so damned worried about you. I’m so lucky to have you, you know that?”

Bucky was calming down by small degrees, the confusion and misery ebbing away as they talked.

“I don’t think it would have worked if you’d told me,” Bucky sighed, shifting slightly on the bed. “I was very… angry when we first met.”

“Understatement,” Steve teased. 

“I didn’t want to listen.” Bucky shifted again, turning further onto his side and pushing his leg at Steve until Steve parted his knees and let Bucky tangle theirs together. “I was too busy just trying to fit in, to unlearn habits of the last seventy years. Honestly? I don’t think I want to listen now, but I guess I at least know it’s an option.” 

He didn’t sound very thrilled at the idea, grumpiness showing up in his tone.

“Did Michael lose his patience with you again?” Steve chuckled.

“Got a whole lecture. Was also told to sit the fuck down and listen.” Bucky shrugged, like an offended cat. “And all I wanted was a cuddle.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, then yanked on Bucky and rolled atop him at the same time.

“You wanted to cuddle with _Michael_?”

“Well, I would have cuddled with you, but you were gone. So I went to his place. Only the bed was busy.” Bucky snorted. “I need to talk to Stark; he should have fitted the rooms with bigger beds. I mean, it would only have been three people. Can't be all that expensive.”

Steve snarled, shaking Bucky as his jealousy eclipsed any and all warm feelings Michael had engendered over the past few days.

“I’m _here_ , you don’t get to cuddle with _Michael_.”

Bucky lifted his head to stare at Steve, blinking owlishly.

“But it’s _Michael_ ,” he said the way other people said their pet’s names. “Isn’t that what he’s for?”

“No,” Steve snapped, “that’s what _I’m_ for. That’s what Red Beast and Tibbs are for. That’s what our baby is for. _Michael_ is for… for - I don’t care, but _not_ cuddling.”

Bucky watched him with big eyes.

“But you were gone,” he said quietly. “And I think I missed you.” 

“I’m not gone now.” Steve tried to retain anger, but it had melted at Bucky’s confession, and the way he reached now out to touch Steve’s face, fingers pressing at the angry wrinkle in Steve’s forehead. “No cuddling Michael. No talking to Stark about bigger beds.”

“You got angry,” Bucky murmured, still rubbing his finger between Steve’s brows. He looked surprised.

“I just told you, pretty,” Steve sighed, settling onto Bucky because like hell Steve was getting off him now, “you taught me I don’t have to be gentle with you any more.”

“It’s a bit strange, not having to dig through the bond to know when you are angry.” Bucky took his hand away from Steve’s forehead. “I kind of like it.”

“Good, but _no_ cuddling Michael, got it?”

Bucky laughed unexpectedly.

“I have no idea how can you be so jealous of Michael. _Still_. The guy’s not even available anymore.”

Sighing, Steve slumped, going limp atop Bucky.

“You know, if you really want to, I’ll get over it. I mean, I’ll be pissed as shit, but I’ll make myself get over it. It’s not like I don’t cuddle with people you hate.” Steve made a face. “Not that I hate Michael any more.”

“You don’t have to feel threatened by him. You are the very reason I never slept with him. Literally. You won that contest; he is never going to be a threat.”

Steve sighed again, rubbing his cheek - and his scent - all over Bucky’s chest. 

“You really don’t get it. I can’t help it. I don’t _want_ to feel this way. I want you to have friends and be happy.”

“I am happy,” Bucky said cardling his fingers through Steve's hair. “I was happier than I expected in the tower.”

Steve smiled, wriggling, getting move of his scent over Bucky. 

“I will never stop trying to make you happier.”

“It’s not easy for me,” Bucky admitted. “For most of my conscious life, all I could hope for was mitigating pain and surviving. I’m not good at recognizing happiness.”

Crawling up Bucky, Steve rubbed their cheeks together, trading scents.

“That’s why you need to believe me when I say if you want to cuddle Michael, just give me some warning so I don’t freak out like a total asshole.”

“How about we both cuddle him?” Bucky offered. “And the cats?”

Considering this, Steve switched to Bucky’s other side, rubbing again. Bucky tilted his head back, offering Steve his neck, the whole, long line of it. Soft and exposed, so vulnerable and completely Steve’s. It wasn’t like Steve could say anything else, at that point.

“Yes, okay.” Steve sighed again, so damned happy, turning to lick at Bucky’s scent glands. “We’ll cuddle Michael. He’s pack now anyway.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hair and used it to pulls Steve’s head up.

“He is?”

“Yeah,” Steve wriggled, needing to get back to marking Bucky with his scent, “Remember, when you knocked him off me, and we almost killed each other? I was marking him, and he threw a punch, so I put him down. He agreed to it, though, and after all this crap he’s put me through, you better believe he’s not getting out of it.”

“He threw a punch?” Bucky groaned. “That man’s survival instinct is even worse than yours.”

“Agreed,” Steve said, adding, “Leggo.”

Snorting, Bucky let go of Steve’s hair so he could lick at Bucky’s scent glands again. Steve set to with gusto, happy to be with Bucky, loving how Bucky was just letting him, allowing this intimacy without so much as a grumble. Even if he hadn’t admitted to missing Steve, this was showing him plenty. 

When he tried to wiggle closer, Bucky wheezed, “Steve, I do need oxygen.”

Grumbling to himself, Steve lifted some of his weight onto his elbows, but didn’t stop acting like a cat with a new favorite toy. Getting his hands under Bucky’s shirt, he tugged and pushed, until Bucky rolled his eyes and helped Steve get it off. He was about to return, get his scent _all over_ Bucky’s chest, when his Omega grabbed his shoulders.

“That’s going to chafe.”

It took Steve a moment to work out what Bucky was referring to. Helpfully, Bucky tapped at Steve’s ches,t and only then did he realize he was still wearing the diamonds. The ridiculously expensive, gaudy, brilliant diamond choker that wrapped around him as Bucky’s mark of ownership. It had to be worth millions with its white gold setting, and sure as fuck wasn’t something that belonged on someone like Steve.

“Jesus, I’d forgotten.” 

Steve sat back, reaching up to touch it. He let his fingers linger, remembering how upset Bucky had seemed when he’d refused the offering. It wasn’t difficult to take off, and he held it in his hands gingerly afterward, still staring at his gift. Bucky had been so turned on seeing this kind of claim on Steve. 

“I guess I need to get you something more expensive next time, so that you don’t forget.”

“More expensive?” Steve flushed, then coughed. “Jesus, Buck. Gonna be hard enough wearing this all the time. You’re gonna get me more? Wanna to see if you can weigh me down?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. 

“There are so many places for jewelry on your body. I could bring you earrings, rings, bracelets… So many body parts I could wrap up in diamonds and rubies.” Knowing the blush was spreading down his neck, Steve tried to duck his head, but Bucky was rolling them now, rolling atop Steve and pinning him down. “The more expensive the better.”

“Bucky,” Steve whined, but already knew he wouldn’t refuse. He was even going to wear all of it, even this damn necklace, because it was Bucky, and because his Omega asked for so little. Like the painting, naked before Michael, this wasn’t a difficult choice. It was also the first physical gift Bucky had given him. It made a certain amount of sense that Bucky wouldn't give him flowers or chocolates, but ridiculously expensive jewelry. Moderation was not in Bucky’s vocabulary. 

“I guess I could have some made for you. Custom.” Bucky fished his metal hand in Steve’s shirt and tugged it up. His flesh hand sneaked under the cloth too, caressing his stomach. “Something to wear under your clothes, so that I can see it when you undress. When you fuck me. When you shower.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve said, but it was breathless and half-hearted. Quieter, he added, “No one’s given me anything like that before.”

“It looks so good on you,” Bucky murmured, leaning up to lick at Steve’s neck. Steve was fine with this, twisting his head to let Bucky have better access. The more the glands there were stimulated, the more pheromones would cling to Bucky’s skin. “So pretty, like some kind of Oriental sex slave, all glamour and fantasy.”

“You want me to be your Oriental sex slave?” Steve asked curiously.

“I want everything,” Bucky answered promptly. ‘I want to fuck you, I want you to fuck me. I want to lick you all over and I want you to pin me down and make me take you. _I want everything_.”

“You have it,” Steve said, mostly without thinking, but knew it was true even as the words passed his lips. “I’ll wear diamonds for you, Buck. I’ll lose my memories and you still can get rid of me.” 

Pulling Bucky down, he kissed him, moaning into his mouth as Bucky opened so sweetly. It wasn’t hard, or sweet, but Bucky nipped at his lower lip, then sucked it into his mouth, while Steve slid his hands down, into Bucky’s trousers.

Then Bucky yelled, “Wait!” shoving Steve away. He even scooted up the bed, keeping Steve at a distance.

“What? What’s happening?”

“You aren’t a virgin again, are you?” Bucky asked with a frown, very serious.

Steve rolled his eyes so hard they almost fell out of his skull.

“Jesus, fuck, you ridiculous moppet.”

“Me!?” Bucky yelled, offended. “I’m not the one turning virgin on the unsuspecting partner!”

“‘Turning’ virgin? You can’t _turn_ virgin.”

“And yet,” Bucky drawled viciously, “you managed.”

“And yet nothing, you ridiculous moppet.” Steve gathered his feet under him, judged Bucky’s escape routes, and pounced. With another yelp, Bucky struggled, but he hadn’t been expecting Steve to touch him, let alone so suddenly without a slow and careful warning. When he had Bucky satisfactorily pinned, Steve snapped, “Listen here, old man, you didn’t _take_ my virginity, not this time, not the last time. I _gave_ it to you, so stop acting like you committed some crime, like I didn’t love every second of it. Or like I didn’t _choose_ you. I did, I chose it, and I could have refused at any time.”

Steve could feel Bucky turning grumpy, like one could feel the change in air pressure, grousing, “Could have been special, not just a romp.”

“ _Could_ have been?” With Bucky’s wrists in his hand, Steve flopped down on his mate again, deliberately driving the air from him. “It’s been the best sex of my life!”

“Not like you had so much to compare it to.” Bucky was still grumbling, determined to stick to his outrageous claims.

“Oh, okay, then what do you think would have been better?”

“I don’t know!” Bucky hissed. “Not like I knew I was going to bed with a virgin! Never had that before you, damn it! Do I look like a guy that wants to seduce a virgin?”

“Then shut up,” Steve snapped. “Because it was my choice, and you can at least be happy I picked you _twice_.”

Bucky’s body relaxed under Steve’s hands. Most of his anger vanished, and he sank deeper into the bedding.

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Steve repeated, fumbling in his mild irritation when there was nothing left to rail against. Finally he settled on, “So are you going to tell me how the baby is, or not?”

Bucky had not changed in the last two weeks so much as to suddenly radiate happiness at the thought of his pregnancy. The small signs of grumpiness felt suddenly like home to Steve. His reticence was so familiar and beloved because it was Bucky. 

“I haven’t been to Bruce,” Bucky said carefully as Steve frowned, “but I think my body’s changing anyway. I guess he will confirm it, but… I’ve been avoiding taking any body hits too.”

Smiling softly - because wasn’t that Bucky, as well? - Steve released his hands slid down enough to rub his face over Bucky’s chest. 

“You’ll go see him as soon as we’re done with this- Oh shit!” Steve scrambled off Bucky, his mind racing as he finally remembered how this had all started. The man with the cloak and silver armor, with his damn vanishing cloud of nanites, and plans for _time travel_. Jesus, how could he have forgotten _that_ part? 

Grabbing the phone from where he’d tossed it on the floor, Steve quickly pulled up the last incoming number. Before he could redial, Bucky surged up, wrapped his hand around Steve’s and tried to pull the phone away.

“It can wait,” he growled.

“I’m not sure it can,” Steve argued, but… “Wait for what?”

“Don’t you want to mark me?” Bucky yanked the phone from Steve’s suddenly-unsteady fingers and threw it away. “Inside and out?”

“I do,” Steve said slowly, “but… I’m not sure it _can_ wait, Buck. I know who did this and I know why.”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, eyes dark while the bond gave nothing but static, before he exhaled and deflated.

“ _Fine_.”

Darting forward, he stole a quick kiss, and then retrieved the phone. This time he hit call, then set the phone to speaker as they listened to it ring.

“Oh, now you want to talk to me,” Tony answered grumpily.

“Tony,” Steve said seriously, “I know the plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mandatory break point.
> 
> If you have been reading this non stop, please get up, go for a walk, or go to sleep. We'll still be here later.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! We've finished Heat Forged! This is the first of seven chapters, which we have posted together to avoid tagging spoilers. Keep reading, even when it's sad, because we promise a happy ending 
> 
> XXOO
> 
> Cleo
> 
> Special thanks to [CobaltMoony](https://cobaltmoonysart.tumblr.com/) for helping us lock down the plot. Your help was _invaluable_.

Clint was enjoying a beautiful bout of REM sleep when his pillow vibrated and rudely pulled him out. There were three phones under his pillow, and one had gone off. One connected to the number he’d given his contacts, the people who provided information when he was undercover. One was for the Avengers in case of emergency. The last was for Tasha. Unfortunately, to check which one, he had to open his eyes. 

Groaning loudly, Clint swore at the night, but dutifully rolled onto his stomach, shoving the pillow away. Squinting at the three phones he found the purple - Avengers line - blinking. A text message, then. Grabbing it, he rolled to the side and held the phone in the air over his head. He was at risk of dropping the thing on his face, but it was _comfortable_. 

Once unlocked, the harsh white light made his eyes sting, so he had to squint some more to read. And unknown number had sent him a simple message, “air pickup. full team. mission ready. time sensitive.” After that there were a series of coordinates, more efficient than using names or addresses.

A shiver of adrenaline went through him. There was only one reason he would be getting this message on this particular phone. Steve and Bucky must have finally caught a lead. Clint had to get them transport without it being obvious what he needed it for, as well as get all the Avengers assembled. Tony wasn't moving well after the spectacle of faking his death; the hole in his chest was rather spectacular. Natasha wasn’t on site, chasing down a lead of her own, but she would be close. 

Clint rubbed his eyes and sat up while unlocking the red phone (Tasha’s line). His message to her was identical to Bucky’s (or Steve’s, he supposed), but he added, “eta tbd. send pick up location.” Tony would be first, then Natasha, since he didn’t know where she was yet. There was no Code Green, so Bruce would be sitting this one out.

Supplies would be a problem, but Tasha could get them from one of her caches. Steve and Bucky had taken their gear with them when they hit the road. Clint needed his own stuff, but nobody would look twice at him arming up in the middle of the night. Getting Tony’s things though...

Shooting off another text to Tasha (“bring gear”), he rolled out of bed and got started.

"JARVIS?”

“Yes, Hawkeye?”

“I need those photos I uploaded for Contingency: Party photoshopped to remove Tony. Then I need you to upload the one of me giving the thumbs up, and captioned,” Clint spread his hands as if framing a banner, “‘Avengers movie night,’ exclamation mark. ‘Party on,’ exclamation mark.’ Then set up the others to queue until we get back.”

“Consider it done, Hawkeye.” 

Clint gave the ceiling a thumbs up.

“You’re the best, Jeeves. Oh,” he looked up, even though he knew JAVIS wasn’t _actually_ in the ceiling, “make up one a tweet about honoring Tony.”

“Understood, Hawkeye.”

Their alibi set up, Clint knelt and reached under the bed for the paper envelope he had taped to his bed frame. A stack of cash in small bills would work for any immediate needs until they could reach a bigger stash. Tasha and he had hidden several all over, for various reason. That tucked away, Clint briefly deliberated suiting up immediately, but decided against it. He didn’t want to look like he was going on a mission. Sooner or later, someone would figure out that most of the Avengers weren’t actually at the tower. JARVIS and Bruce would hold them off until they got their head start. 

Choosing his best ripped-up jeans and a faded t-shirt, he stuffed his naked feet into neon blue flip flops, then mussed his hair more than it was already from sleep. The image he projected could not be seen as remotely professional. There would two guards at the hangar doors, both vetted by S.H.I.E.L.D., but he would prefer they believed his rouse. He was just taking a quick trip in the Quinjet to get the bizarre snack food Tony had preferred for movie nights since the party _was_ in Tony’s honor. Thankfully, Tony was crazy enough to take deliveries of foreign treats, so no one would question his need to take a jet.

Squinting and yawning, Clint slouched his shoulders and headed for the roof. This would be easy as pie.

“Aw man,” he mumbled, “now I want pie.” Thank god there was at least was coffee on the Quinjet. 

\----

Tony wasn’t the closest pickup, but he was on the way to the ocean. Anybody tracking Clint would see his trajectory was in line with his excuse. Everybody knew about the Malibu residence, but very few knew about the Cape Cod cabin. It had only been recently finished, and nobody had lived there. It wasn't even fully furnished. The kitchen was mostly an empty space, the bedrooms nothing but bare walls, but the underground lab was up and running. Thanks to the arc reactors, Tony wouldn’t pull power from the grid, and since he was more than happy to spend all his time in the lab anyway, nobody would see lights or movement in the house. It was the perfect place to stash their genius.

Once he was far enough from the tower, Clint directed his words to the only person who could contact Tony.

“JARVIS, buddy, you here?” Tony had never said, officially, that JARVIS was on the jets, but considering Tony had a habit of uploading his A.I. into _every_ system he’d ever encountered, it was a good guess.

“Yes, Hawkeye.”

“Ha!” Clint couldn’t help being pleased with himself. “I knew Tony couldn’t help himself.” He shook his head. “I need to contact Tony. We have new info from the wonder-twins, and I need to pick him up.”

JARVIS sounded careful, protective of his master like a hen with a sickly chick. “Sir is not capable of combat, yet.” 

“We won’t get him all banged up,” Clint promised, “but we need him, J.” 

“The last time he was needed, he got a hole shot through his chest.”

“Better than being dead, right? Because _that_ was the other option.”

Clint was sure that if the A.I. could sigh, it would have.

“Patching you through. One moment.”

A few seconds later, the line crackled, and Tony’s voice said tiredly, “I am told there’s a good reason my nap was interrupted.”

“Steve called to assemble,” Clint was startled by how exhausted Tony sounded. The usual sarcasm, jokes and inexhaustible energy was completely missing. Clint hadn’t seen Tony after he’d “died” - Natasha had ferried him out of the tower in a delivery truck - he’d only helped get medical equipment installed at the cabin. Still, Clint hadn’t thought Tony was this bad off. “You know, I can call an audible. Skip you and go get Nat.”

“No,” Tony sighed deeply, “No, I got something for Steve, too. I don’t want to play telephone. This sensor is too fragile for the likes of you.”

“Tony,” Clint heard Pepper in the background, but lost what she was saying when Tony said loudly, “Be ready in ten.”

Though he hesitated for a moment, Clint finished with, “Roger,” and let JARVIS terminate the call. He had to trust Steve and Tony knew what they were doing, even if he wasn’t entirely sure that they did.

Clint set down ten minutes later. The area was remote with a low risk of anybody actually seeing the Quinjet land, but Clint still flew in as high as he could before turning off all the lights and landing as gently as a jet could. The less visible, the better. No need to take risks now.

The engine exhaust fumes flattened the garden that was being planted in the front yard. The young trees and bushes bent outward from the plane. The house itself was dark and unwelcoming, the modernist cube with its huge window panes gaping at him like a hungry frog. 

The jet’s infrared sensors picked up two figures huddled in the entryway. Tony and Pepper. Clint opened the hatch and stood to meet Tony. A thick hoodie was pulled over his head, one hand pressed against his ribs, probably holding the bandages. He moved slowly towards the plane, Pepper beside him in jeans and sneakers - a weird sight of its own. She was lugging a metal case, square with black, vertical stripes, and carefully tailoring her steps to keep with Tony’s shuffling gait.

Clint scowled. As egoistical as Tony could be at times, Clint had never seen him allow Pepper to carry anything heavy if he could help it. It didn’t matter that she was his Alpha, he never allowed her to do physical labor. 

“Hey,” Tony greeted as he made his way slowly up the ramp. 

Clint curled his fingers into fists and pressed them against his thighs. If he offered to help, or tried to support Tony, he would get his head bitten off either by Tony, or the overly protective Alpha at his side.

“Hey,” Clint called back. “Pepper.”

Inside the plane’s belly, the minimal lighting illuminated Tony’s face. He looked like shit. A charming greenish-blue tint matched the circles under his eyes, which were somehow darker _and_ heavier. Clint couldn't help but think, again, that getting Tony on board was a really bad idea.

“Wow, you look like shit.” 

“Thanks. _You_ look like you’ve been drinking.”

“Thank you!” Clint preened. 

“ _Have_ you been drinking?” Tony asked.

“No,” Clint said, offended. “It’s a disguise.”

A soft growl startled Clint and he quickly focused on Pepper. The Alpha was glaring at him, arms crossed, and Clint’s pheromones started pouring from his scent glands without conscious thought. Fucking Alphas were terrifying.

“Take care of him,” Pepper demanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said quickly. He added a salute, just to be sure, and the growling finally stopped. Pepper did roll her eyes, though. 

“If I put on the suit, will that make you feel better?” Tony asked Pepper.

“It would make me feel better if you stayed home.” Pepper said, then sighed. “But if I can't have that, yes, put it on.”

“Yes, Alpha.” 

Tony saluted with fingers that were shaking, just a little bit, and then touched one of the bracelets he wore on his wrists. The panel hiding the suit slid upward, the pieces soaring of their own accord to Tony and fitting about hm. Steadying him, Clint thought, letting him stand straight and strong.

Pepper stood back, letting Clint raise the ramp. And if Tony stared at her the whole while, Clint wouldn’t tell.

“Where to now?” Tony asked as the jet picked up speed. He’d lumbered into a chair, sitting gingerly. Clint tried not to worry too much. He failed.

“Pick up Tasha. She’s got my gear, plus some stuff Bucky probably would like to get his hands on.” He punched in the trajectory and spun in his chair to face Tony. “We’re having a pizza-slash-movie night in your honor, by the way.”

“Is that the cover story?”

“Ain’t that what I said?”

The weary look Tony gave him made Clint feel bad.

“Man, you are _not_ okay.”

Tony closed his eyes.

“I’ll survive.”

Sighing, and knowing a losing battle when he saw one, Clint turned back to the controls. He wasn’t Steve, he wasn’t going to fight everything that crossed his path. If Tony thought he needed to be here, Clint wasn’t going to be able to talk him out of it. Likely, he’d make it worse if he tried. At least Tony was sitting right now, not flying outside the jet on his own.

They flew in silence for the next twenty minutes. Clint hoped Tony was sleeping, though he doubted it. Still, he kept quiet as the jet touched down at the coordinates Tasha had sent him. It was a field in the middle of nowhere. It was nice; Clint had half expected such a quick extract to be in the middle of a firefight, on some rooftop he wasn’t sure would actually hold the jet.

“Boys,” Tasha greeted as she climbed the ramp, a duffle bag in each hand. To Clint she added, “Nice look.”

Smirking, Clint lifted off as she started sorting the gear. Once he had them airborne, he’d suit up. 

“It’s great being known as the stupid one.”

Tony snorted, proving he wasn’t asleep.

“I think that’s Michael.”

“First off,” Tasha said with an edge to her voice, “he’s not an Avenger. Second, he’s not stupid. Third,” Tasha held out a bottle to Tony, “drink.”

Cracking an eye, Tony eyed the offering, then rolled his eyes and took it.

“Yes, _Mom_.”

“Don’t be smart with me,” Tasha replied. “What’s the word?”

“Steve would want to debrief us together,” Clint began, but gave up once she gave him her best murder-face. Only Bucky did it better, really. “We’re picking up Steve and Bucky at a no-tell motel. The message didn’t say much else.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Tasha asked predictably.

Before Clint could tell her about the code and the number, and argue Bucky would never give it up, Tony said, “He got his memory back.” Clint turned his head so fast something in his neck twinged. “We know who’s behind this and what their master plan is. It’s big, end of the world, full Avengers Assemble, kiddos.” 

“Then where’s Sam and Bruce?” Tasha asked.

“Sam is doing a solo gig in San Diego,” Clint answered. “Another A.I.M. base popped up and the boys in Washington wanted an Avenger on sight for clean up.” Clint didn’t see it, but he knew Tasha was rolling her eyes. “Bruce is holding down our alibi.”

“Which is?” 

“Pizza party!” Clint crowed. “In Tony’s honor.”

“Good plan,” Tasha said, and the simple praise was like being given an award. “We’re sure we shouldn’t call him anyway?” 

“No,” Tony said, “but we’re not.”

“So we don’t know much about the bad guy, then?”

“No,” Tony shifted in his chair, stretching his neck and crossing his arms, “Steve says his name is Dr. Doom.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Clint grumbled.

“And that he has the ability to control time with that rock he grabbed. Steve figures Doom took out Steve, and tried to take out me, to make it impossible for the Avengers to stop him.”

“Good thing Bucky’s on our side and Steve’s got his memory back, then,” Clint said, setting the plane to auto-pilot. He headed to the back towards the pile of stuff next to which sat the black bow. “How did Steve get his memory back?”

“Nanites were blocking his neural pathways,” Tony said without an ounce of his usual enthusiasm. “I told him to electrocute himself, short out their circuits -”

“You did what?” Tasha asked sharply.

“- and it worked,” Tony finished. “Apparently Doom was so confident we’d never figure it out, he told Steve his whole plan.”

“Villains,” Clint chuckled, “always monologuing. When will they ever learn?”

Pulling off his shirt, Clint started changing into the standard S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical gear stored in their safe houses. It wasn’t the bullet-proof body suit Tony had cooked up for him, but it wasn’t anything to sneeze at either. The lightweight kevlar would protect him from most attacks so he wasn’t concerned there. The arrows, on the other hand, had him a little worried. They were all _normal_ , not a trick arrow in sight.

“Bucky’s baddie didn’t learn,” Tasha said. “We got nothing on him.”

“We will,” Tony said, a touch of his old confidence returning. “But we have bigger fish to fry at the moment.”

“Time traveling fish,” Clint had to point out.

“It’s already making my head hurt.” Tony groaned. “Fucking time travel. With goddamn _rocks_.” Though he was in his suit, Tony rubbed at his temples. “How long till we reach the Wonder Duo?”

Clint smiled. 

“Forty-five minutes.”

\----

When they said it was a no-name motel, they had really meant it. Clint circled the tiny town that couldn't have had more than thirty houses. He was downright amazed there even _was_ a motel.

“We trying to be quiet, or fuck it?” he asked his passengers.

“Fuck it,” Tony and Nat said in chorus, making Clint cackle. He couldn't look back at them, but imagined the expression they had to have had on their faces. Like two cats who had woken up to find the dog had taken a nap with them: surprised and horrified. 

The parking lot of the motel was adjacent to the parking lot of some kind of mini-mart, so Clint sat the Qunjet right there. At least they wouldn’t have to call Steve or Bucky. Hell, the whole town would see them, if it hadn’t heard them. The bird sat down like a dream, with barely a shudder. Nat gave him two claps, which was the highest honor, and he turned to bow as he hit the button for the ramp.

Barne’s voice rang from outside, sounding strained and frazzled, irritation pouring off every syllable, “Thank fuck you guys are here!” 

All of them turned to look as murder-kitty stalked onto the ramp, lugging a huge duffle and all but fuming at the ears.

Clint blinked. 

“That’s the warmest welcome I have ever gotten from you.”

Barnes turned, his cold eyes fixing Clint with deadly stillness.

“I could kiss you right now, that’s how happy I am.” He did not sound at all happy.

“Don’t you run off,” Steve’s voice interrupted anything the rest of them could say. “Smoking is _seriously_ damaging to-!”

“One more word, Rogers, and you can go and get friendly with our couch as well,” Bucky growled, pointing at Steve who was walking up the ramp with the rest of their bags.

Tasha coughed, and so did Tony. Clint didn’t bother, snickering at both super-soldiers. What did surprise him, though, was when Steve just crossed his arms and flexed his jaw.

“Bucky, you are not taking this seriously.”

Tony groaned, “I’m not sure I can deal with Cap Dad right now.”

“Shut up, Tony.” Clint blinked in surprise, as did Tasha and Tony. “Bucky. You _have_ to take better care of yourself, whether or not I’m around.”

Bucky growled again, turning to Steve and spreading his arms in the most aggressive surrender Clint had ever seen. Moving very slowly, he started closing the ramp, hoping to just blend into the background.

“ _When_?!” 

“Don’t you _‘when_ ’ me,” Steve hissed. “You know _exactly_ when. You are not a child, and I’m supposed to be your _mate_ not your father!”

“Then don’t act like one!”

“As soon as you act like an adult!” Steve fired back, taking a step forward. “You know very well I’m right!”

“I know very well you don’t know shit, are panicking, and driving me insane right about now!”

“You think this is panic?” A low growl rippled through the plane. “This is anger, Bucky. What do you think is going to happen if you don’t take care of yourself?”

“Absolutely nothing, since the serum heals everything whether I want it or not.”

“The serum _doesn’t_ heal everything!” Steve shouted and Clint quietly slipped into the pilot’s chair. “Especially when you don’t _eat_!”

Bucky made a sound that resembled an enraged rhino, snorted through his nose and stomped to the pilot’s console. Clint leaned as far away from him as possible and watched with half an eye as Bucky reached under the console. Something clicked, then clacked and Bucky pulled out a... candy bar? What? When? Who stowed away candy on the plane and didn’t tell him? 

With an expression more suitable to mass murder, Bucky ripped off the foil, then stuffed half the bar in his mouth. He swallowed without even chewing it and then repeated the process with the second half. The candy was gone in seconds, and Bucky threw the wrapper at Steve. The foil never reached the target, no matter how forcefully Bucky threw it, and fluttered sadly between the angry men.

“Here, happy? Now stop it, or I swear I will -”

“Or you’ll _what_?” Steve snarled. “Because you better believe I’ll never stop making sure you’re healthy, no matter how many tantrums you throw.”

“And I appreciated it the first few minutes, but then I got really irritated and if you continue pushing, I will throw you off this plane and go after the stones myself.”

“I would have stopped if you had _responded_ instead of ignoring me.”

“How the fuck does responding change what already happened?”

“Seriously?” Steve threw up his hands. “Bucky, for Christ’s sake, how do you think _anything_ gets better? You acknowledge it and try to change!”

The anger fell from Bucky then, into that intense, predatory stillness that reminded Clint strongly of when the guy had first come to the tower.

“Why would I want to change how I act when you are gone?”

Steve stomped into Bucky’s space.

“Because I love you, here or _not_.” Despite his anger, he gently pulled at Bucky’s elbows so they were standing close, and bent his neck so they were the same height. “Because I need you healthy and whole to come back to. Because I need you, Buck, and it terrifies me when you’re so careless with yourself.”

“Then it works both ways,” Bucky said, out of nowhere. “You don’t want me careless, but you don’t spend a second thinking about your own safety. Even today, right in front of me, you risked everything.”

Steve reached up, curling a hand around Bucky’s neck. Now Clint felt uncomfortable for all new reasons, like he was intruding on something intimate. Which made sense, since he was. Still, Clint couldn’t stop staring. You didn’t just look away when two men who looked like _that_ were being intimate.

“I know. It was really fucking stupid, and I’m sorry. I’m trying to do better.”

Bucky exhaled and Clint could see the way his chest rose and then fell with that one long breath.

“So am I.”

Straightening, Steve kissed Bucky’s forehead quickly.

“That’s all I want to hear.”

“If you’re done?” Tasha interjected, probably because she was allergic to feelings.

Bucky let himself stay in Steve’s grasp for another moment, then pulled away. He flicked his eyes over the gruesome glory that was Tony’s face and said, “You look like shit.”

“Guess the suit really is a prosthesis now,” Steve added, making Bucky chortle. Clint squinted at him, not sure he believed his ears, but no, he was smiling. Clint wasn’t even sure the last time he’d heard Bucky laugh.

“My,” Tony said without looking their way, “such good humor. From fights to jokes in no time flat. It’s like we don’t have world saving to do.”

Though he rolled his eyes, Steve walked over and laid a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Did you bring it?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Tony gestured impatiently to Clint. “Get this bird in the air.”

Even as he powered up the jet to take off, Clint asked, “Where to?”

“We’ll find out,” Tony sighed and pointed at the case Pepper had brought into the jet, “It’s in there. As soon as we have enough altitude, we can run it through the plane’s sensors and get a reading.”

“A reading on what?” Tasha asked pointedly.

“The radiation coming off one of the artifacts Doom stole,” Steve answered. He hadn’t taken his hand from Tony’s shoulder, Clint noted. Good, he should feel guilty for making Tony come this far. “The one that tries to find itself. It should lead us to Doom.”

“Assuming he kept it on him,” Bucky pointed out.

“Assuming, yes,” Steve said in the way that meant they’d fought about it already. Clint was just glad they didn’t start up again. He had never seen them arguing so openly, or without the heartache Steve used to carry around like an unbearable weight.

“I still say we find the bastard that blackmailed me and wring Doom’s location out of him.”

Or maybe they were going to fight about it.

“Bucky,” Steve said tiredly.

“I’m just saying…” Even the force of Captain America’s ‘I’m disappointed in you look’ didn’t stop Bucky from shrugging again and repeating, “I am!”

Tasha said what Clint was saying. “How do you two even work?”

“I’m adept at survival,” Bucky said over Steve’s mild, “He keeps me on my toes.”

“Right,” Clint said, focusing on the controls. “I better keep an eye on my job before I lose my mind trying to understand you two.”

The super-soldiers both chuckled. As Clint got them up as high as the Quinjet could go, Bucky went to help Tasha open Tony’s mystery case. Though he couldn’t spend much time watching, he heard a lot of beeping, booping, clicking, clacking, and the occasional, “No, not that slot,” from Tony. Frankly, he was glad he was only piloting the ship.

Finally Tony said, “Keep looping, Clint. JARVIS will take over once we’ve got a reading, and’ll punch in a course.”

“Tony,” Steve said quietly - or tried to. It was hard to actually be quiet _and_ be heard over the Quinjet’s engines, “once we have a reading, you should head back to Pepper. You’re not -”

“The only one capable of understanding Doom’s tech?” Tony interrupted, not bothering to lower his voice a fraction. “Oh, wait, I am.”

“You’re hurt,” Steve argued, apparently giving up trying to stay quiet as well. 

“He should stay as long as he’s in the suit.” Bucky’s defence of Tony was enough to make everyone else shut up. Clint turned in his chair, finding Bucky standing at Tasha’s side, a strange array of blinking lights having been wired into an open panel of the jet. Steve and Tony were standing face to face, the former frowning at Bucky, the latter with his mouth half open.

Tony was the first to recover. 

“Wow… Murder-kitty! I had no idea you loved me!”

“Don’t push it, Stark,” Bucky said, kneeling next to Tasha.

Steve, for once, backed down. 

“Tonight is strange,” Clint said loudly.

“Tell me about it,” Tasha grumbled. “Is it ready, Tony?”

“If it doesn’t explode when all the markers turn red, then yep, it’s ready!”

“Why does half of what you do explode?” Bucky grumbled.

“Because I’m a scientist. That’s what we do.”

Steve, apparently raring for a fight already, said, “That is not what scientists do.”

“What do you know?” Tony moved to get a better view of Bucky’s and Tasha’s work. “ _You’re_ an artist and a soldier.”

Before Steve could answer, Clint yelled, “No more fighting! It’s great to have you back, Cap, but I had gotten used to the other guy’s calm and quiet.”

“He was _not_ calm.”

Clint wasn’t sure when Tasha and Bucky had started talking as one, but it was unnerving. They were terrifying alone. They didn’t need to get into each other’s heads.

“Or quiet,” Bucky added under his breath.

“No,” Clint amended, “but he avoided the shit out of confrontation with Bucky, and I approve of that at this moment.”

“He was hiding in his room,” Tasha argued, and Clint hit his head against the back of the seat.

“He was all but locked in his room!” This time it was Steve who chimed in. Clint hit his head on the seat again. For once, he understood his parents. This shit would drive him to drink, too.

Twisting, he stood up from the controls and crossed his arms.

“I will not be the adult on this plane!”

The expression in the four pairs of eyes that looked to him, then at each other, was comical. The silence was as well, but Clint didn’t laugh, even if he knew the image would be funny. His hair was still standing up like he’d been struck by lightning, and he hadn’t had time to put boots on with the uniform, so his toes peeked out from around his purple flip-flops.

“Okay, Clint,” Steve said soberly, “we’ll behave.”

Tasha nodded and turned back to her wiring. “Yeah, because if you’re the adult, we’re fucked.”


	20. Chapter 20

“That is not real.”

Steve had to agree with Tony. The castle they were circling looked straight out of a Disney movie. Who knew Lithuania had the kind of movie perfect castles that he was sure were only fiction? High steepled, red ceramic tiled roofs, with beautiful stone walls, it was set at the shore of a rocky sea, a long bridge connecting it to the mainland. Old trees, thick with foliage, grew right up to the waterline, giving them no place to land other than right in the middle of the cobblestone courtyard. 

“I don’t like it,” Bucky said.

“Are those flowerpots?” Clint asked, zooming in on a line of brightly colored flowers beneath each windowsill and along the light stone walls.

“Yes,” Steve said absently, “Clint, run a biometric scan. See if we’re about to drop into a hornet's nest.”

The screen zoomed out, then darkened as an overlay of greens and reds fit over it. Infrared and heat sensors quickly scanned the ancient building, hunting out any life, and finding more than made Steve happy. Three four-man patrols, lookouts (and probably snipers), plus stationary guards meant Doom wasn’t slacking. Not that he had yet, but Steve thought they deserved a break.

“Plenty of company over for tea,” Natasha said, sighing as she triple-checked her load out.

“I don’t like tea, either,” Bucky grumbled.

Steve chuckled, but his mind wasn’t on his team. He was watching the patrol patterns, gaging the placement of the stationary guard posts, and wondering if they even had a chance at stealth. It didn’t seem likely. With this level of competency, the guards were probably in constant contact. They could take out one group, maybe two, but that would be it.

“Then you will have a chance to express your displeasure,” Natasha said, just as placidly. Sometimes Steve thought she got a kick out of just how grumpy Bucky could get.

“As much as I hate to suggest it, it looks like we have to jump out of the plane,” Bucky said, grumpier than ever..

“No.” Steve shook his head. “There’s no point in stealth. Not when we have surprise on our side. We go in hot and hard, take out as many as we can before they know what hit them.” Pointing at the courtyard, he said, “We hover there, disembark and hit these groups here,” he gestured at several stationary sentries. “Tony can use the jet’s firepower to watch our six. Clint and Bucky take out the snipers, while Natasha and I split up to take the patrols to the east and west. Then we regroup and hit the castle.”

“Considering how thick the walls are,” Tony said, pulling up a scan showing what the jet’s sensors had picked up of the structures. “I doubt there are many hidden defences. Most of what you see above ground seems to be the original building. Bad news is that it’s over six feet of rock and mortar, which means shooting your way through the walls is impossible. It’s doors and windows only. Once past those doors, you’ll be going in blind. We can’t get a read on anything thanks to those same walls. The comms should work, but there may be interference.”

Narrowing his eyes, Steve nodded slowly. 

“Clint, Bucky, be careful. Stands to reason there could be plenty of sleeping guards in those buildings.”

Bucky looked hard at Natasha, then at Steve, then back.

“Switch?”

Scowling, Steve opened his mouth to protest, when Natasha nodded.

“Switch,” she confirmed.

“You two want to explain this?” Steve drawled, trying to keep his irritation in check.

“Bucky’s a better heavy-hitter than I am,” Nat said, but the look she gave Steve said there was more she wasn’t saying.

“Not that I _can’t_ do it,” Bucky said, his tone somewhere between pissed off and playful, but the bond was full of irritation, “but Natalia is lighter. She’ll climb faster.”

“Anyone else find it weird we all call the Spider Queen different names?” Tony looked around, ignoring Steve’s glare for interrupting. “No? Just me?” 

“Fine,” Steve rolled his eyes, “but we’re talking about this later.”

“Yes, Captain,” Nat and Bucky chorused. It was creepy and Steve did not like it. 

Pointing at them, he growled, “Get out of each other’s heads,” then turned to Tony. “Set us down.”

Tony looked back at Nat and raised his eyebrow.

“Yes, Captain,” Tony, as well as Nat _and_ Bucky said together.

“I hate all of you,” Steve grumbled.

“Hey!” Clint protested, frowning. “I wasn’t in on it. I mean, I would have been, but I wasn’t.”

As they gathered at the jet’s ramp, waiting for it to drop, Steve sighed deeply and shouldered his shield.

“You’re all children.”

He glared at them once more for good measure, then turned to the already-opening hatch of the Quinjet. Why he expected that to make them ashamed, he had no idea.

“Lead the way, Dad!” Bucky pulled even with him, looking at Steve instead of the empty space howling in front of them. “Don’t be so grumpy.” Steve wished sound could express his disbelief at hearing those words from Bucky, the grump master. “Those guards don’t stand a chance against all of us.”

“Just be careful,” Steve murmured, taking hold of the handlebar beside the door as the jet swooped sharply down making his stomach drop. Tony turned the jet on a dime and pulled the nose up in a move that spilled them out of the open hatch. Steve fell, turning his body even as he did in order to orient himself in the madly whipping wind. Then his feet were hitting the cobblestones of the courtyard. He heard Bucky hitting the ground a heartbeat later, a dull, clanking sound as his metal arm struck the ground for support.

Though he ached to check on him, Steve sprinted in the opposite direction. Above them, Tony maneuvered the jet heart stoppingly close to one pretty turret, dropping off Nat or Clint. With a burst of speed, Steve turned the corner of the same turret as searchlights and alarms went off. He plowed into the first guard before the poor guy had a chance to lift his weapon. One strike put the man down for good and the next was close enough Steve grabbed the barrel of his rifle, pushed it down, and slammed his shield into his face.

The remaining two guards had enough distance and good training that they were raising their guns and taking aim. Steve threw the shield. The closest one fell with a cry of agony as Steve launched himself into the air, flipping sideways, in case the last managed to get a shot off, and slammed his right foot into the man’s head on landing. He went down, but didn't lose consciousness, squeezing off several rounds. With the shield returning on the rebound, Steve caught it and brought it up, blocking the shots. Another kick broke the man’s neck, leaving his head twisted at an unnatural angle.

“Targets down. Bucky?”

Bucky’s voice came over his coms. “Down.”

Natasha sounded a little winded as she said, “East towers are clear.” 

“Ow,” Clint groaned, “but clear.”

“How much ow?” Steve asked, then mentally had to question why that sentence made sense.

“Band Aids ow,” Clint assured.

“Deep breaths,” Bucky said, and Steve wished he wasn’t the one that was directed at.

“Tony,” Steve took a deep breath, “set the jet down. We’re on our way.”

“Good,” Tony said, his voice clipped, “because the last two patrols are closing quick on my six.”

Steve jogged to the low-raising wall, housing a line of flower boxes bursting with white and red flowers, and used it to pull himself onto the low roof of what looked like a cellar; the visibility was shit. Tall, uneven walls with illogical twists made it impossible to see if anybody was approaching from behind. At last, he caught sight of Bucky running towards him, and Nat jumping from one window sill to the next like a mountain goat. The whizz of a bullet had him jumping down from the roof to take cover behind the building as a hail of bullets dug furrows into the stone walls.

“Cap, I can cover you if you want to run for the entryway,” Clint said in his ear, “but I can’t get a bead on their sniper.”

Across the courtyard, Bucky was wedged into a bend of the wall. The chipped stone just beyond him proved that he too was under fire.

“They’re using the main gates as cover,” Nat said. “Clint and I can sneak around on their six, but it’s going to take time.”

“And there are eight of them and two of us,” Clint added.

Steve chanced a quick look, but couldn’t see where she was hidden.

“I can hide here,” Bucky said grumpily, “But I can't see shit from this place.”

“We need to take cover and return fire,” Steve ordered. “Bucky, double back the way you came, come around the wall and find a way over it. There’s a low wall to your eight that will serve you well.”

Bucky looked his way, then disappeared.

“And you, Steve?” Tony asked.

“I have a shield,” Steve said, “I come with cover.”

Planting the shield at the edge of the wall, Steve used all his strength to embed it several inches into the cobblestones. “That’s fucking cheating,” he heard Bucky grumble even as he crouched behind it and returned fire upon the guards at the gate. It would keep them in place as his team found new positions.

“Don’t be jealous just because my toys are better than yours.”

“I will show you toys, Rogers,” Bucky growled.

“Promises, promises.”

“Rogers,” Nat interjected, “I see two more at the castle itself, but they’re not moving. Looks like they’re protecting something. Barnes,” she added, tone sharper, “don’t let them see your back.”

“I see the two Nat was talking about,” Tony said, “It’s some kind security station. I can see the light from multiple screens. Shadows indicate they’re sitting in front of them, can’t say exactly what it is.”

Clint’s voice was mournful as he said, “Unknown tech.”

“We’ll worry about them later,” Steve said, “Tony, keep an eye on them and holler if they move. Nat? Clint? You in position?”

“Not yet,” Nat answered.

Gunfire joined Steve’s, meaning his mate had found himself cover. His voice came over the coms almost at the same time. “Even when they get in position, they’re going to have a hell of a time getting them out of there.”

“If anyone has a better suggestion, I’m all ears.”

No one responded and Steve was tactful enough not to rub it in.

“I have one,” Tony chimed in, his voice strained and shaking on every exhale.

“Tony no!” Steve snapped, the memory of how Tony looked after his ‘staged’ accident, the all too real blood and flesh splattered over the workshop was too fresh. Not to mention, the man was whiter than a sheet even in the armor. He was only going to hurt himself if he tried to step into combat.

It was too late though, the whine of Iron Man’s repulsors was coming closer. Then the suit streaked by, headed directly for the gate. The blast blew out the left side, throwing one body and plenty of brick and mortar out. Steve could hear cursing and a commotion over the com, indicating Nat and Clint were moving in. Bucky held his position, as did Steve, keeping the guards pinned down from one direction, as they were pinned in from the other. It had been a great plan on their part, great cover. It was also a position easily pinched in with overwhelming force. Without air support, they would have had to spend so much time cleaning them out that reinforces would have arrived. Steve gritted his teeth. They shouldn't have had any air support. Tony was in no condition to be pulling stunts like that. 

The Iron Man suit turned in a wide arc and headed back. Tony landed somewhere behind Steve, less gracefully than Steve was used to. The conspicuous silence on the comms means that Tony was muting his end of the line.

As reckless as it was, it was effective. Two more explosions, probably Clint’s exploding arrows and the gunfire died.

“Clear,” Natasha called, this time definitely winded. “And my feet are wet,” she added with an irritated huff.

“Ow,” Clint reported, “but clear.”

Tiredly, Steve asked, “Good ow, or bad ow?”

“Eh,” Clint said and Steve winced. “Stubbed my toe. Hurts like a bitch.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve hissed. “Group up, let’s get in position to breach the castle. And _Tony,_ you’re in the rear.”

“This is the thanks I get for saving all our asses?” Tony’s voice was tight and controlled. Steve wished he didn’t have to ask his friend to fight when in this condition. It was different for the augmented fighters, they could risk aggravating their injuries. Tony couldn’t. God only knew what this little trip was costing him, what it could cost him in the future.

“You get to hang out with me,” Bucky interjected with a honey-smooth voice that instantly set Steve on guard. 

“Um,” Tony stammered.

The sweetness in Bucky’s voice intensified to cloying levels.

“You saying you don’t want to?” 

When Bucky reached them, he clasped his left hand on Tony’s shoulder so that the metal clanged.

“Really?” Tony said.

“Cheer up, if you faint in that thing I’ll peel you open in no time.” 

Tony opened the facemask and looked at Bucky, brows raised.

“Thanks? I guess?”

“Okay, children,” Steve pulled even with Tony, “since we already paired up, let’s try and see what’s inside this castle. The grounds were well defended, but we haven’t seen much from the inside.”

\----

“What is it with this guy?” Clint asked, staring at the large chandelier hanging from the high ceiling of what must have been the main banquet hall before it had been turned into a laboratory.

“Don’t act like you’re not figuring out how to get up on that,” Bucky teased.

“I kind of like it,” Tony admitted. Like always, he’d wasted no time before investigating the multitude of cables leading from three pedestals to the centre of the room where what Steve could only describe as a portal out of a cheap sci-fi movie was floating in midair. Each pedestal held a glass and metal container housing the ‘special’ rocks. Only there were _three_ , not two, with similar markings. They shimmered and pulsed with dark blue light that made Steve’s eyes hurt if he looked for too long. A multiple of computers and machines were lined upon tables, likely servers powering whatever… was going on. 

Time travel.

“There’s no one here,” Steve said slowly. 

“Which is bad,” Clint said.

“Very bad,” Natasha agreed.

The floor was strewn with wrist-thick cables leading to a circle of dark rock, that shimmered and sparked in the same as the little ones powering the portal. It looked to be made of the same material, even. The shimmering blue portal’s center moved like water, rippled and flexed, strangely organic and alive.

“Can you tell where he went?” Steve asked.

Tony’s short, “Working on it,” didn’t help, but there was nothing for it but to give Tony time.

“I don’t like this,” Bucky said, eyeing the doors, “Where is Doom?”

“My guess?” Steve said, nodding toward the portal. “He went through there.”

“Great,” Bucky said dryly.

Steve had to agree. 

“Clint,” he said, getting everyone to focus again, “Nat, watch the door. Bucky, see if you can pick up a signal, if any reinforcements are on their way.”

Bucky growled.

“Steve, don’t go through the portal.”

Smiling, Steve looked at his mate and sent a wave of affection through the bond.

“Promise, up until Tony tells us where he went.” Bucky’s growl grew louder, so he said seriously, “Pretty, we’re going to have to go after him. We can’t let him do… whatever he wants to do.”

“Find the Tesseract,” Tony said loudly. “I’ve got a full file here on where it went into the ocean, where my dad found it, how it worked - everything. He’s _definitely_ after the Tesseract.”

Closing his eyes, Steve groaned.

“We’re definitely going to have to stop him.”

“Good news, bad news then,” Tony went on, “I can't tell you where it leads, or _when_ , but I can tell you that this portal will collapse in less than twenty two hours.”

“We can assume it’s directed somewhere after Steve went down into the sea,” Natasha said, “but before your dad found the Tesseract.” She tossed her hair out of her eyes. “Not sure that’s important, though.” “What’s important, then?” Bucky grumbled.

“Steve’s right.” Nat looked back at him, then to Bucky. “You two gotta go through and stop Doom.”

“I’m not picking up anything,” Bucky said, ignoring her statement entirely.

“There’s one more thing,” Tony interrupted. “Doom was taking readings when he went through that thing.” Steve looked over to see he was attaching portable ports for JARVIS to any USB slot he could find, hacking everything Doom had ever recorded. “Anyone who uses it will be irradiated. I.E., they’ll die.”

Steve frowned.

“Then is Doom dead?”

“Not with our luck,” Clint grumbled.

Frowning harder, Steve disliked the insinuation that Doom was enhanced. Nevertheless, he tried to focus on the problem at hand, namely, “Which is more reason it’s you and me going through, Buck.” Even if there was a baby who could end up dead. “Maybe. Maybe -”

Bucky growled and Steve bit his tongue, closing his eyes. He hated this entire idea. If their positions had been reversed, he would have been just as angry, so he could _understand_. He still hated it, but fine. Bucky would go with him.

“Ready?” Steve asked.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Tony interrupted, his tone subdued, “but this portal is one use only. That’s the timer I was seeing. The rocks degrade in twenty two hours.”

“So, if we don’t get back in time, we are not getting back at all?” Bucky asked even as he stepped closer to the portal.

“Can we actually risk not going after Doom?” Clint asked seriously, all cheer forgotten in the moment.

“The Tesseract is too powerful,” Steve said. “Too powerful for any human to wield it. _Ever_. If somebody as ruthless and smart as Doom obviously is gets his hands on it...?” 

Resignation came off Bucky in a wave.

“Fine.” He rolled his shoulders and the arm recalibrated. “Let’s do this.”

Steve nodded again and looked to the others. 

“Make sure no one gets in here and closes this portal before we’re back.”

“I vote for not letting Tony touch anything,” Clint said.

“Uh,” Tony said, giving Clint a long look, “ _way_ too late, Robin Hood. Like hours late. How do you think one uses a computer anyways? By thought?”

“You mean you can't?” Clint said, scandalized. He looked at Tony like the man had betrayed him. “All this time… and you _can’t_?”

Tony rolled his eyes hard enough for everyone.

“Get a move on, you two. Time’s a-wasting.”

“Are we sure we want to save this reality?” Bucky asked, voice dry as a desert.

“Pretty?” Steve said sweetly. “Shut up and jump.”

“Aye aye.” Bucky saluted him and did just that, jumping through the portal and swallowed by iridescent blue. Not even a ripple indicated his passing. One second he was there, the next he was gone. Like he’d never been. It was all the motivation Steve needed to follow, since he was now terrified he’d killed his mate, and his baby, and -

There was noise, or maybe it was simply the reality screeching at him, that made his ears ring and his head pound. It felt uncomfortably like drowning and being in the center of a hurricane at the same time. The jump itself lasted less than a second, but it felt so much longer. The sensation of stretching and contracting made him nauseous and miserable enough he stumbled to one knee as he landed on the other side.

Steve was up a moment later, stumbling as he forced his body to cooperate. His mind was still roiling, panicked at the thought of Bucky _dead_ , and he reacted to the two guards turning, raising their rifles toward his mate, before their existence processed through his mind. Twisting, he threw his entire body into throwing the shield. The angles weren’t perfect. The vibranium snapped one man’s arm, then the next - making it impossible for them to fire their weapons - and clattered past them into the hallway.

A gunshot from behind him felled the another guard as Steve saw him rushing around the corner. Bucky had joined the fight, and Steve tried not to dwell on what had caused the delay. Even without his shield, Steve continued on the offensive, rushing forward. As Bucky fired at the final guard, backing him down the hall, Steve ensured the two with broken arms stayed down, where they belonged. 

A final shot, and the last of Doom’s guards fell, bleeding out and gasping. Steve walked to his shield, put it on his arm, and turned to Bucky. Since he knew better than to physically touch his mate, he satisfied himself by looking him over. Steve had always liked the armored jacket, thicker now with extra padding around his chest and middle. The gleam on his metal arm became a comfort, a familiar sight that Steve loved. He was ridiculously gone on the man and aware of it. 

Bucky caught his eye, lifted his eyebrow and unexpectedly ambled towards Steve to bump him with his shoulder. With relief, Steve knew for sure Bucky was fine. The contact was brief, but he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t seen and felt Steve’s need, or his worry. He also wouldn’t have done it if he’d been hurt, considering he was like a cat that would hole up and hide to lick its wounds.

“Take a look around,” Steve said. “See if Doom left any clues as to where he’s headed.”

Turning to do the same, Steve took his first real look around. It was the same castle as they had portaled from, though the high arch of the ceiling and bumpy, vaguely straight walls were a pale shadow of the renovated grand ballroom. The floor wasn’t yet marble and polished concrete, but a layer of dirt and broken stones, crumbling to create treacherous holes in the ground. The smell of earth and mold was strong in the air, and when he looked up, Steve could see that the huge chandelier Clint had been fascinated with was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a rusted chain holding up a half-rotten, wooden circle with metal rings, probably for oil lamps or candles. Steve’s hearing picked up the skittering sound of critters scuttling in the darkness beyond the glow cast by the portal. 

“It’s the same castle,” Bucky reported back what Steve had already deduced, “but it looks abandoned and half-ruined.”

“Maybe that’s why Doom chose it. He knew enough about this place to know it was abandoned now.”

“There’s a plane outside,” Steve looked over to see Bucky looking out a broken glass window, “Looks like it’s gearing up to take off.” 

Steve came over, looking out at Bucky’s side. All he could see was an airstrip, some black figures running around, and a plane sitting on the runway. He also knew Bucky could see a lot more. Modified for sharpshooting, his file had said.

“What else do you see?”

“They’re loading the plane with boxes, probably tech from our time; it’s what I’d do. The tall guy, the one in the cape, is obviously in charge. He looks…” Bucky trailed off, confused, or maybe just unsure.

“What?”

“Like he’s armored? Or maybe made of metal? I’m not sure. The light reflects oddly.”

“It looked like armor to me,” Steve said. “Like one of Tony’s suits. How many men does he have with him?” Steve had counted five, but he wasn’t going to trust his eyes over Bucky’s.

“Two pilots, four men loading the plane plus Doom, and at least three guards I can see from here. Can’t see anything behind the plane.”

“Where are they getting the boxes from?” Steve asked, straining his eyes to see more details.

“That hangar.” Bucky pointed to a small, squat building not far away from the plane.

Steve grinned.

“I got a plan.”

\----

Getting to the treeline unchecked between the castle and the water was fairly easy. The part where they had to swim through cold water to get to the hanger was decidedly less pleasant. Without a change of clothes, they would be forced to do the rest of the mission soaked. Their weapons and comms wouldn’t be damaged, thanks to Tony’s hard work, but Steve didn’t relish the thought of their gear drying out, or becoming encrusted with salt. There wasn’t much of a choice, though, they couldn’t get across the bridge leading the the castle’s island without being seen. Swimming was the only way to go.

Even though he knew Bucky could swim with his metal arm, had seen it happen more than once, he couldn’t help casting the limb a look. The last thing they needed right now was for Bucky to be at half capacity.

“It’s fine,” Bucky said gruffly, clearly catching Steve’s gaze as well as his worry. 

“Rationally, I know that,” Steve explained, “but we’re alone out here with no back up. I can’t help but worry about it.”

Bucky looked at the far shore.

“I’d say race you, but then you’d get us caught.”

Frowning, Steve opened his mouth to protest, but realized Bucky was probably right. He could be a bit competitive.

Instead he said, “...now I want to get there first.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Then you can perfect the art of stealthy racing,“ Bucky said, looking at the water lapping at his boots. 

Steve sighed. 

“Or not.”

It took them twenty minutes to cross the water soundlessly, Bucky ahead of Steve because Steve didn’t _have_ to win everything. It was one of the more miserable swims of his life though. The water was cold and dragging at his clothes, pulling his boots down and making his jacket feel like it weighed a ton. His arms burned with unfamiliar effort. He had trained for this, and he was a good swimmer, but that didn’t stop him from hating every second. The cold, the treacherous currents especially. The inlet looked calm and unassuming to the eye, but he could feel it pulling and dragging him sideways as they went, forcing them to swim at an angle instead of straight for the shore. Even then, they landed far from their chosen spot. 

To make matters worse, the shore was not a nice sandy beach. It was rocky and jagged, pieces hiding under the surface for them to scrape their arms and legs on when they used the tree cover to crawl out unnoticed. By the time they were both onshore and pulling off their boots to pour out the seawater Steve was definitely done with swimming fully clothed ever. 

Raising their weapons - Bucky with his assault rifle, Steve the shield and a pistol - they crept to the hangar. One of the workers was lifting a box, another checking a paper on a clipboard. The other two workers were at the plane, carrying a crate between them. This was going to be easier than he’d thought.

“Looks like we get that change of clothes,” Steve whispered.

“Make it quick,” Bucky whispered back, all business now that there were enemies so close.

Steve didn’t sigh.

“You take out box, I’ll take out clipboard.”

A single nod was Bucky’s only response before he ducked low and started creeping forward. The hangar was large enough to fit several bombers, but was now only protecting a few dozen boxes. If there had been more, it was gone now, loaded and shipped out. Doom had to have been there for some time - hours or days, Steve wasn’t sure. Did the portal’s exit move through time as the rocks degraded?

Shaking his head, Steve focused on his task. They would likely never know the answer to that, only that they hadn’t returned to the same moment Doom had first returned to.

Steve kept one eye on Bucky as he made his way toward the targets. Thankfully, the remaining boxes were towering, and thus offered ample hiding places. With Bucky’s target closer, he arrived first. Box-guy was yelling something at clipboard-guy as Bucky lunged, quiet as a snake, and wrapped his head and neck in a sleeper hold. Steve still had three feet to his own target, but had to abort when Box-guy abandoned the box to grab at Bucky’s forearms. 

Steve didn’t think, but reacted. Changing direction, he leapt for the box and caught it just before it crashed to the concrete floor. A thick crack indicated Bucky had changed plans as well. No longer waiting for Box-guy to lose consciousness, he’d snapped his neck. Before the body even fell to the floor, Steve heard the swoosh and watched as a knife sprang from Clipboard-guy’s neck. Clipboard died with a gurgle, and Steve set the box gently on the ground. 

Sincerely, Steve said, “Nice,” and watched Bucky smile almost shyly. Holy shit that was adorable.

“Not now, Steve,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. It was probably due to the look on Steve’s face, or the emotions in the bond, but Steve didn’t care. Bucky was cute as hel,l and Steve was pretty sure the sleeper hold had been for his benefit. Unnecessary killing wasn’t really his style.

“ _Now_ ,” Steve argued even as he scooped up Clipboard-guy and started hauling him into the shadows, “is plenty of time to say I love you. Which I do.”

Though he scowled fiercely, the bond flared with Bucky’s embarrassed affection. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Steve grinned. 

“But you love me, too.”

“I do,“ Bucky said unexpectedly, and Steve had to fight the desire to scoop him into his arms and kiss him stupid. They really had enough on their hands without Steve’s emotions causing delays. 

Without further conversation, they hid the bodies and set to work stripping them of their jumpsuits. It wouldn’t be a great disguise - both Bucky and Steve were far bigger than Clipboard and Box-guy - but it would buy them enough time on the runway. In the hangar, they could use the shadows to ensure the last two workers didn’t think anything was amiss. 

Assuming they got dressed in time.

In the end, it was a near thing. Bucky’s jacket gave an ominous screech as he shoved his metal arm in moments before the two workers came into view. Thankfully, the helmet was already on his head, luckily covering their wet hair.

“What’s next?” the approaching worker growled at Steve. The modern English surprised him momentarily, out of place in the old setting. Clearly, the men were from their original timeline, probably even from the US, since he doubted Lithuanian soldiers would speak English like that.

Instead of answering, Steve waved the two toward the box Bucky was standing beside and held his breath. Once they had taken a good look at either Bucky or him, the game would be up. Steve was banking on them not doing that, since they had been moving huge boxes for god-only-knew how long. Normal people would be thinking only about getting the next item moved, not about sabotage.

Their luck held until the workers reached the crate. The one in front missed a step, his shoes squeaking over the concrete, and Bucky lunged forward, leading with his metal hand. It closed over the man’s face, squeezing hard enough Steve heard the crunch of bones as Steve erased the remaining distance between himself and the second worker. He would have to thank Natasha again for his training; neither worker had noticed as he’d snuck into step behind them, getting ever closer as they went about their work. Now he wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and shoulders, locking them in place and squeezing so the blood stopped flowing to the man’s brain as Bucky pulled his victim down and slammed him head first into the concrete. Blood and brains splattered over the ground as the body in Steve’s arms struggled, then slumped, limp and unconscious.

“That’s genuinely gross,” Steve told Bucky as he lay his body with the other two. “It’s all over my shoes.”

Bucky grunted. 

“Not like they can get wetter” 

“Fair point.” Steve took a breath, checking his weapons to ensure they were as concealed as they could be, then set his shield on top of the crate. “Ready?”

Bucky nodded and they picked up the crate. It probably weighed close to a hundred pounds, but either of them could have carried it one handed. The men they’d killed couldn’t, though, so they walked backwards, attempting to pretend like they were carrying something heavy. If Tony or Clint had been there, they would have been laughing their asses off. If the situation had been different, Steve would be laughing sick at the way Bucky all but grunted with the effort.

They made it halfway to the plane before one of the guards noticed something wasn’t quite right. With his back to them, Steve only knew from the shift of Bucky’s eyes, the flare of focus through the bond, and they both dropped the crate.

Steve snatched the shield off the crate and flung it at the closest guard as they opened fire. Without the shield, he had to throw himself into a sideways spin to avoid the first hail of bullets. As his shield caught the tail of the plane and spun back towards him, he rushed the guard on the left, firing as he went. The second guard joined the first on the ground, screaming in pain, and Steve collided with the third pistol first. Blood splattered the air from the man’s new head wound and Steve turned to check on Bucky.

Both pilots were dead and bleeding, and Bucky was firing, strafing right, at a green-cloaked figure in dark, shining armor.

“Captain,” Doom didn’t even flinch as bullets sent sparks flying, “can’t say it’s nice to see you.”

Now that he had a close up look, Steve noted again that the metal was a suit very much like Tony’s. The face plate’s eyes and mouth were open, though, showing the man beneath. If Steve had been a man easily intimidated, the hulking figure standing still in a hail of bullets, green cloak whipping in the wind, he would probably have pissed himself. Instead, he grinned and ran to join the fight.

“Dr. Doom, was it?” Steve asked. “Sorry to be such an inconvenience.” 

As he said the last word, using his entire body, Steve threw his shield at Doom’s ugly-ass face. When a mental hand moved lightning-fast and snatched it straight out of the air, Steve skidded to a stop in surprise. No one but Bucky could catch his shield like that, not even Tony.

Without any inflection, Doom said, “An annoyance at best.” The lack of fear didn't sit well with Steve. It implied that Doom was stupid, or didn’t see them as a threat.

“You can’t do this.” Steve signalled for Bucky to stop shooting. “You can’t change the past. You can’t possibly imagine the consequences.”

Steve moved away from Bucky to increase the distance between them. He wouldn't be able to circle around Doom, but if he could force him to keep switching his attention between Bucky and him, he could slow him down.

“But I can, Captain.” With a flick, he tossed the shield across the airfield so that it disappeared into the dark. “Not that I imagine a mind like yours could understand. I am, after all, a genius.”

“Not the first time we’ve heard that particular boast,” Bucky drawled, contempt dripping from his voice.

“Since you’ve regained your memories,” Doom turned to face Steve, gaze following him instead of fixing on Bucky, “you should remember how easily I took you down.”

“I was unprepared.” 

Steve shifted his position a little more to the left. If he aimed for the man’s face he was sure Bucky would aim for the legs. The middle was obviously armed well enough it was a useless target.

“You _remain_ unprepared.” 

That was all the warning Steve got. Doom launched himself into the air like a rocket, so fast Steve barely managed to adjust his stance to meet the flying tackle head-on. Though he blocked it with crossed arms, Doom’s impact sent pain racing down his arms, even as he twisted, grabbing the fist that had hit him. Using his serum-enhanced strength, he pulled, trying to force the armored body off balance. But whatever was propelling the suit was just as fast and precise as Tony’s. Doom resisted the throw. Not only resisted, he powered up, using his free hand to grip Steve’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” 

Steve let go of his grip, backpedalling fast, instinctively knowing that something bad was going to happen. He didn't manage to get clear. The electricity that enveloped him was so bright it stung his eyes, and his body arched and twitched in agony. He wasn’t aware of the moment his legs gave out under him, or when he started screaming. His eyes only focused when the teeth-jarring electricity stopped flowing through him, though his heart was stuttering and lungs were burning, like he had been flayed open. The air stank of smoke and charred meat.

There was another burst of light and Doom was engulfed in a ball of flame. Bucky stood behind him, a smoking grenade launcher in his hands, face twisted in a furious scowl. Doom’s cape was burning, but he didn’t more than stumble. 

“Your inferior weaponry is nothing but an annoyance,” Doom snarled, extending his hand. The air was filled with crackling as a whip of pure electricity shot towards Bucky. His mate managed to jump away from the first lash, but the whip almost seemed alive and aware, twisting to follow him. Bucky could see it, too, and Steve could feel the alarm through their bond.

The arm. Of course, it was the arm. It was metal and it was attracting the whip. There was nothing either of them could do. The end connected with Bucky’s shoulder and his mate screamed, fell, his legs buckling.

Steve didn’t think much about the possibility of being hurt again, body still shaky and twitching, but he pushed to his feet. Doom’s back was to him as Steve took his first, stumbling steps, then got his footing. Steve didn't try to hit him with his bare hands, instead grabbing the damaged cape and tossing it over Doom’s head.

Bucky took the distraction to roll under the plane. In this age of low tech options, Doom wouldn’t want to damage his own transportation. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t damage Steve’s face. Taking a step back, Steve held up his hands as Doom calmly removed the cloak from his face and turned.

“You are a persistent bug, aren’t you?” Doom took a step forward and Steve launched a punch at his face. That seemed the weakest part of him, open holes and hinges and all. The blow seemed to do little more than bruise Steve’s hands, but he swung again and again and again, until Doom asked, “Are you done yet?”

If Steve was being honest, he wanted to cry. Nothing they’d done had even marred the surface of Doom’s armor. His own body, on the other hand, burned with pain. His heart hadn’t yet returned to normal rhythm. Even having the shield wouldn’t have helped. With that electricity, it would be a liability.

“It’s a shame, Captain, that men like you and I must always be at odds. The good we could do, if we could only work together. Anyway,” Doom said before Steve could protest, and he sounded genuinely mournful, “I know better than to convince you, just as you should know better than to convince me.”

“What are you even _planning_?” Steve demanded. “The Tesseract will kill you.”

“No,” Doom shook his head, “No, I don’t think it will. As to what I’m planning…” Like Bucky in the hangar, Doom lunged with his hand outstretched and caught Steve’s head in his hand. Pain radiated through Steve’s entire being as Doom _squeezed_. “I think I’ll leave you alive to see, Captain. You and your mate.” 

Something in his head crunched and Steve flailed, screaming and striking at any part of Doom he could reach. Distantly he heard Bucky shout his name, then gunfire, but Steve couldn’t see any more. There was only white light, searing pain, and Doom’s dark voice.

“Maybe one day you will see my path is the only way. We are not so different, you and I.” The hand that was holding him must have dropped him because Steve’s face met asphalt, a fresh wave of agony making his stomach roil. Bucky was still shouting, then something thumped, _hard_ , a few feet away. “I, too, only wish the best for this world. I, too, know the pain of a compatible mate choosing another. You’ll see, soon enough, as soon as I retrieve the Tesseract from where you left it.”

Each breath Steve drew in was like fire. The white light of his vision was dotted with pink highlights, and his ears full of the buzz of his own blood. He felt through the bond as Bucky came closer, inch by inch, before the first touch to his shoulder. Where Doom was, he hadn’t a clue.

“Steve?” Bucky sounded rough, his voice tense and filled with worry. “Steve, say something.”

Steve wheezed, but speaking through the pain wasn’t an option. Not yet. His hand scrambled through the dirt, along the asphalt, until he clutched at Bucky’s ankle. He did try to speak, but the mangled groan that came out of his throat didn’t pass for words.

Another roar filled his ears and rattled his brain around his painful skull. Bucky shifted closer, then over him, covering his whole upper body. The noise began moving away, becoming quieter and higher, until it disappeared. Only then did Steve understand it was the plane taking off.

“We got our assess kicked.” Bucky was still over him, cradling his head carefully. “Please be okay.”

Steve knew better than to shake his head; he was reckless, not stupid. Instead, he squeezed Bucky’s ankle. His world was pain and light, but he’d heal. The serum would see to that. The only question was, how long it would take.


	21. Chapter 21

Bucky hated that dry feeling in his throat and the sour taste of fear on his tongue. He was no doctor, but even he could tell that there was something wrong with Steve’s head. The pain and disorientation he felt through the bond were too strong for just a simple concussion. The good thing was their enhancements ensured anything that didn’t kill them immediately they would likely survive. Which in turn meant Bucky could be reasonably sure that Steve would be up and about soon enough. 

That didn’t take the sour taste from his mouth, or make him feel better when he looked down at Steve, whose eyes were open, but unseeing. His pupils were uneven and weren’t reacting to the shadow he cast. The fact that Steve couldn’t communicate, even though he obviously tried, only made Bucky’s chest tighten even more. 

His own knee was pulsing, dislocated, but not broken when Doom had thrown him. Soft tissue damage would heal fast enough since he had made sure the bones were sitting correctly in the joint, but it still left them a mess. He could move if he had to. Steve had taken the brunt of the damage, while Bucky had tried shooting everything he had at Doom. It had been all but useless. The guy’s armor had blocked everything they had, and even the fucking _rocket_ Bucky had found. 

When he had seen Doom grab Steve’s face, Bucky thought he’d have a heart attack. Steve had looked so fragile in that armored grip, and Bucky had been beset with the memory of crushing that guard’s face with his own metal hand. He hadn’t been thinking when he went after Doom, and he was pounded for the effort. It had been years, decades even, since he had acted without thought He honestly thought he didn't have it in him to throw himself at danger uselessly and blindly, because somebody was getting hurt. Because _Steve_ was getting hurt.

But the way Steve had screamed… It had shaken Bucky when Steve had been swatted away like a fly; he lost all reason when it came to Steve’s safety.

How were they supposed to stop Doom now when they couldn’t do so, even at their best? 

“Jesus,” Steve abruptly gasped. He’d been silent for the last ten minutes, since the plane had taken off. Just a groan occasionally, when Bucky had accidently jostled him, or when he’d attempted to speak. 

“Hey,” Bucky whispered, afraid to touch Steve like he wanted, so just held him gently. “Hey.”

“Hurts,” Steve managed through gritted teeth. “Doom…?”

“Gone,” Bucky confirmed, then spat, “Fucker.”

The twitch of Steve’s lips released some of the tension in Bucky’s shoulders.

“Which one of us?”

“Yes,” Bucky hissed then hiccuped, starting to laugh hoarsely. It hurt, him throat too tight for the sound to be anything but painful.

Steve’s lips twitched again, and his breathing huffed as he held in a laugh of his own.

“You okay?” 

“Knee’s dislocated; burns and scrapes otherwise.” Bucky ran gentle fingers through Steve’s wet hair, feeling how hot the scalp was beneath. “Your cape trick saved me a world of pain.”

“Good.” Steve sighed, his grip tightening and his eyes closing. “He broke my head, Buck. I won’t be up and moving for a while.”

“When he grabbed your face like that… all I could think was how easy it was to break that guard’s face. I thought… God, I thought he’d killed you.”

“No,” Steve said, his voice gentle and soothing, “he wants us to see his grand vision. He wants witnesses, just not interlopers.”

“At this point, we’re barely a nuisance.”

Steve sighed again.

“We’ll figure something out. First we have to catch up to him. And, um…” Steve grimaced. “Buck, I can’t _see_ just yet.”

Bucky’s fingers, still running through Steve’s hair, froze before he managed to restart the movement. He hadn’t known the damage was that serious. When Steve had started talking, he had thought he’d overreacted. He had thought… It didn't matter what he’d thought. Right now, he needed to get Steve out of the elements. The day was still warm, but the sky was cloudy. He couldn't let Steve get soaked and cold again, not in the state he was in now.

“You need shelter, a place to rest,” Bucky murmured, regretfully pulling his fingers away from Steve. And he needed to fix his leg.

“We need a plane,” Steve said, contrary as always.

“You’re worse than a sitting duck out here.” 

Bucky closed his fingers over his swollen, pulsing knee, and felt around the joint. Everything seemed in place, but just hurt like hell. Gritting his teeth he tensed the muscles and forced himself to bend the leg. It moved how he expected, nothing clicking or grating inside. Definitely not broken, and the bone must have popped back into the joint after the blow. It would move and hold his weight if he had to walk.

“Then what’s your plan?” Steve asked tiredly, and wasn’t that an indication of how messed up he was? “We have to catch up to Doom.”

“With what?” Bucky asked. “Wings?” Sighing, knowing Steve was going to keep arguing as a burst of determination filtered through the bond, Bucky said, “Let me get you set up someplace safe, to rest and I’ll find us a plane to chase down your villain. Okay?”

The jut of Steve’s jaw faded and Steve’s lips twitched. It was the only part of him that moved.

“Okay.”

With Steve’s stillness, Bucky knew his mate wasn’t going to be moving on his own. For his own part, it wasn’t walking that would be the worst. It was crouching and picking Steve up. He was going to do what Steve hated, and dissociate from his body to achieve that goal. 

Bucky slowed down his breathing, waiting until his heartbeat count equaled his breaths, and then slowed both even more. A slight chill ran through him, shivers that were a side-effect of his pulse slowing down, and on the next long exhale pushed himself to a knee. Pain washed over him, faintly nauseating, but passed into background noise as his awareness slimmed out to mere function.

“Bucky?” Steve scowled. “You feel strange. Are you -” Understanding dawned across his features, and his scowl turned into a deep frown. “I hate it when you do that.”

Bucky didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. He breathed in, breathed out, and heaved. The pain was quite extraordinary, but he wasn’t really feeling it as he picked up Steve as gently as he could. Steve still shouted in pain, whimpering as Bucky shifted his weight. Despite that, Steve wrapped one arm around Bucky’s neck, squeezing hard and stabilizing them both as Steve’s tall frame was difficult to balance.

Turning toward the hangar, he set off across the asphalt. Once he started walking, the rhythmic flare of pain from his knee was easier to ignore, the misery a state he was intimately familiar with. Steve didn’t comment, in his own state of misery, that Bucky could distantly feel through the bond. Each jostle amped up the pain, and Bucky wished he had some sort of stretcher to push him on.

Worried about worsening whatever was wrong with Steve, Bucky didn’t take him very far. He set Steve against a crate which had been tucked in the corner of the hangar. The hidden bodies weren’t far away, broken and discarded like trash, nothing more than casualties of war. Bucky didn’t much care, and he didn’t want to ask if Steve did.

“Bucky,” Steve said gently. “Don’t go too far away.” The arm around him tightened as he tried to withdraw. “Don’t you dare go where I can’t reach you.”

“You can reach me anywhere if you try hard enough,” Bucky answered, reaching for his handgun and pressing it into Steve’s hand. “Don’t die while I’m gone.”

Steve’s arm trembled as Bucky pulled it off his shoulders. 

“Where are you…?” 

“We need to catch up to Doom, that’s what you said, and you’re in no state to do it.” Bucky wanted to kiss Steve, but he was pretty sure that would just hurt him more. “I’ll find a plane, get it back here. You heal up.” Gruffly, he added, “You’re useless to me like this, Rogers.”

Lips quirking, Steve leaned carefully back against the crate. Bucky could feel he still wanted to protest, to keep Bucky near, but he didn’t. He just nodded, cradling the gun in his hands and closing his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Swallowing, Bucky turned and walked away. He had a plane to find.

\----

The moment Bucky saw the signs written in cyrillic it hit him that they were in the past. Strangely, it wasn't the technology in the hangar, or even the plane, but this sign, black paint on a white background with a name that resonated painfully in his mind. Just a year after World War II, Bucky had been deployed for his first Red Room assignment. He had travelled all over the ZSRR, what the Americans called the USSR, to several secret (and not so secret) bases. If his memory was correct, then there was an Air Force base nearby. 

Bucky turned his eyes up at the sky and waited for his pupils to adjust to the distance. Once the sting passed, he turned slowly, making sure to scan every inch of the horizon. After a few minutes, he found what he was looking for: white trails of exhaust in the sky. A clear indication of the base’s location. He hoped the codes he remembered would work. They would have to be in the right year to still work. Already work. 

God, he hated time travel.

The half-hour run to the base wasn’t in anyway pleasant. His clothes were still damp and crusty with salt, chafing each time they rubbed against his skin. His boots squelched and dragged, while his knee screamed bloody murder. It was better than when he had left Steve, but the constant movement was impeding the healing process significantly. He needed to stop for at least an hour to get into a more functional state, but there wasn't time. They had already lost so much getting their assess handed to them by Doom. They had to catch up to him, deal with him, and then come back before the gate closed. 

That’s if they even managed to figure out how to get rid of Doom in the first place.

Bucky found the barbed wire fences first. There wasn’t much to see behind them, just a lot of concrete runways and some low, green-grey buildings. With his luck, he’d come up on the side of the base with nothing but endless tarmac for cover. The size of the base, the number of buildings, and the grey shapes of planes hunched down on the tarmac indicated that the base was a rather small one. Probably a supply base, or a refuel and repair depot. They wouldn’t have any advanced planes, but he didn't have time to be choosy.

After a moment where Bucky just allowed himself to breathe, he was off again, running along the fence at the fastest speed he was capable. The burning pain in his knee had become familiar at this point, easier to ignore with practice. The sun was shining down on him, making the run an even more miserable adventure without a single tree to offer shade. It took fifteen minutes before he saw the first guard booth. It was a small, lonely thing, a wood and metal construction with a single soldier inside guarding the road. 

The guard rose from his chair as Bucky came into sight, gun pointed his way, but Bucky didn’t have time to talk it out. Putting on a burst of speed, he extended his left arm. It wasn't hard, judging the bullet trajectory by the angle the soldier held his rifle. The guy, so young he couldn't even be twenty, didn’t get more than five shots off before Bucky was vaulting the barrier, then slamming through the wooden wall of the booth. 

Bucky slammed into the soldier in a shower of splinters and bore him to the ground, careful not to accidentally kill him. The boy stared at him with wide, terrified eyes as he ripped the rifle from his hands, then relieved him of his handgun. 

Surprisingly, it took a moment to remember how to speak Russian. The words flew easily from his mouth and felt strangely nostalgic at the same time, “I need you to radio your commander.” Bucky dragged the soldier up by a fist in his uniform as he stood up. Then he pushed him at the radio mounted on a small desk under the opposite wall. “I have a command-only code for him.”

He watched the boy look at the radio and then at the gun Bucky had thrown to the floor.

“You can do it for me and live,” Bucky growled, “or I can kill you right here and try it myself. Sure, it would be easier with you switching me directly to the base commander, but I can do it the hard way if I have to.”

The boy chose to cooperate. His eyes slid from the gun and onto the radio dials. Bucky was grateful. He was tired and in pain; he didn’t want to fight his way through the entire base to find someone in charge. 

As the boy picked up the radio and started pushing buttons on the console, Bucky pulled out his handgun, flicked the safety off and pressed it to the back of the boy’s head. The soldier stuttered, his fingers shaking before he resumed his work.

Bucky said, “If you use an alarm code, I will kill you before I go in there and kill all your friends.” The words were dispassionate. He didn't feel any particular anger at the Lithuanian soldiers, but he would do as promised. He would wipe out this base if his hand was forced.

The kid shook his head, and Bucky listened carefully as he contacted the communication center and gave a code. 

“Yes,” he said, “connect me to Commander Dreshov.”

Bucky could hear the displeased tone of the person on the other side of the connection as he said, “No. You must follow protocols and the chain of command.” In response, Bucky ground the barrel of his gun into the boys skull, reminding the boy that succeeding was the only thing keeping him from death. 

“There is no time. I must speak with the commander.” The boy swallowed hard, then half-whispered, “If you don’t get him, I promise he’ll find out what you’re keeping beneath the false bottom of your locker.”

“Fine,” the voice snapped. 

A series of clicks and an older, even more displeased voice, came on the line.

Bucky pushed the boy out of his seat, holding him by the back of the neck in his metal fist as he picked up the receiver.

Bucky enunciated each syllable, unsure of his accent after all these years, “Authorization code AF975.” 

There was silence in response, and Bucky’s anger flared.

“Confirm,” he snapped.

“Authorization code AF975 accepted.” The man cleared his throat. “What does Red Room require?”

“I need radar data from the last two hours, a plane, and supplies.”

Finally, they’d caught a break.

\----

It had taken him a moment to remember how to control a plane as old as a Brewster SB2A. The Brewster wasn’t new, but it was in good condition. It was light enough for the shorter airstrip Doom had built, and large enough that the fuel tanks would last during a long flight. Between the radar data he’d demanded from the base commander, and the coordinates Steve had provided for the Tesseract, he was sure where Doom was headed, and there should be enough fuel for a round trip. 

A small part of Bucky doubted they would be able to return as easily though. Doom had thrown them around like ragdolls, and they hadn’t yet found a successful way of stopping him. His plane was newer, better armed, likely from 2017. A Brewster was good for their needs, but wouldn’t stand a chance against anything modern.

As soon as he gained altitude, Bucky banked in a long arch necessary to prepare the plane for another landing. He regretted not having the Quinjet. It would have been so much faster and easier just to fly straight for Steve. Instead he had to go sightseeing, putting in the distance just to turn around and start the slow descent. The noise level in the cockpit was also higher than he was used to. It seemed he liked his creature comforts more than he had thought.

Bucky exhaled slowly upon seeing the lonely airstrip where Steve was waiting. There wasn’t any movement; no new cars or people, so hopefully no one had come to investigate the earlier commotion. He also hoped Steve’s healing factor had kicked in enough to make him functional. 

Carefully, Bucky relaxed the grip he had on the controls. A bitter taste remained in his mouth from when he had had to bring Karpov’s name into the conversation at the base. His heart skipped, the phantom pain of an old bond fluttering through his memory. He hated remembering early handlers, the ones that had turned his mind into Swiss cheese and had turned him into an obedient dog. He hated remembering how easy it had been for the Alphas to take control of him. The anger and hate raising in his chest choked him. Sometimes he thought it would have been a mercy not to remember at all.

The landing was less than perfect. The plane touched down with a single bounce, then gained traction. He reversed thrust and waited for the plane to stop. Pulling the cockpit open, he jumped out and headed for the hangar at a jog. His knee was better, aching, but no longer impeding his movement. 

Putting the pain out of his mind, he called for Steve as he came within sight of the hangar.

“Steve!”

The sound of leather scraping on concrete told Bucky Steve was at least moving. When he came around the corner, Bucky wasn’t happy, but things could have been worse. Steve was moving under his own steam, if slowly. His eyes were focused, and he smiled at Bucky, but he wasn’t up for combat. Not with someone like Doom.

“Where’d you get the plane, Buck?” Steve asked, amusement fluttering through the bond. “Five-finger discount?”

Bucky opened his mouth to deny having stolen the plane, but that was just by coincidence. He had fully intended to steal one until he had remembered there was a base nearby.

“They didn't have anything shinier.”

“I’ll have to have words with them,” Steve said, finally getting to Bucky at his tentative pace. “Should only have the best for my magpie.”

Bucky reached out to touch Steve’s shoulder, curling his hand over the muscle, feeling how strong and alive he was. Steve was okay. He was up; he was going to be right as rain soon.

“How do you feel?”

“Never had a worse migraine,” Steve admitted, leaning into Bucky’s touch, “but give me an hour and it’ll be like I never got my ass kicked.”

“I’ll fly,” he offered, worried about the noise of the plane combined with Steve’s headache. Steve’s simple nod confirmed at least that Steve was thinking about being whole for the next part of this mission. “You were right, Doom is heading toward the coordinates you gave me.”

Putting his hand on Bucky’s back, Steve nudged him toward the plane. 

“Howard found the Tesseract. He deserves that credit, not me.”

“You figured out what Doom’s purpose was.” 

Bucky watched Steve go towards the plane, eyes fixed on the dried blood on the back of his head. There were dried, flaking streaks of it on the back of Steve’s neck and staining the collar of his uniform. Bucky had never seen Steve this beat-up. He was also staring at the plane, not climbing into it.

Finally, Steve turned and said, “You’ll have to give me a hand.”

Biting his lip, Bucky didn’t comment, but stepped forward to do as Steve requested. Kneeling, he cupped his hands for Steve to step into his grip, and then boosted Steve up. It was still a scramble, and Bucky winced when the bond fed him just how much it hurt Steve to be jostled, but Steve climbed into his seat and closed his eyes.

Bucky was starting to think they should regroup, maybe get reinforcements.

“Maybe we shouldn’t -”

“Do you know what the Tesseract can do?” Steve interrupted. “Doom will destroy everything if he has it. He will actually be capable of that claim, making the world the way he wanted. If we get there first, we can steal it from under his nose.”

Without a word, Bucky climbed into the cockpit and started strapping in.

“It’s hard,” he said at last, flipping switches, “to care for something so abstract as the world. I’m here because you believe we have to do this.” 

“I know,” Steve murmured just before fingers brushed the back of Bucky’s neck. “Thank you.”

Bucky looked sideways at Steve.

“Not like I could have let you go alone.”

Steve smiled tightly and sat back again.

“I still appreciate it.”

The lift-off was easier the second time around, earlier practice opening up Bucky’s old skills. After the plane evened out, it became easier to filter out the noise. Bucky realized how… boring this trip would be. They had the course set and the plane required minimal attention from him. Bucky looked to the console, longingly thinking of a radio. Maybe a CD player, or Ipod would be nicer. All he had was switches and gages; no distractions.

He cast a look at Steve beside him, trying to scratch the dried blood from his neck and the side of his face. He licked the edge of his sleeve and rubbed at the reddened skin. Lick, rub, rub. Lick, rub, rub. A little frown of concentration crossed his face, a wrinkle between his brows that Bucky usually saw in combat situations, rather than staring into reflective panes of glass.

“Steve,” Bucky called after another few minutes of this repetition.

Steve didn’t turn his head

“Yeah?”.

Bucky huffed.

“Entertain me.”

The complete cessation of the combo had Bucky’s lips twitching. The frown deepened, but then Steve turned to him. He looked startled, which didn’t entirely make sense given the situation.

Slowly, Steve said, “I don’t think I’ve ever entertained you without sex.”

Sex actually sounded quite good right now. Bucky brightened immediately, and opened his mouth to answer, but Steve cut him off.

“Not enough space,” Bucky blinked at the serious voice.

“So... if there was enough space, you would?”

“Move on, Bucky,” Steve rolled his eyes, exasperation pouring through the bond.

“But it’s been so long!” Bucky whined, barely keeping the smirk at bay.

“Enough.”

Bucky turned back to the windshield, staring at the featureless gray of the cold sea. Apparently, Steve was not in the mood to be teased. Bucky wasn’t all that happy either about being here. He knew they would catch up to Doom, but he didn’t want to think about what would happen once they had.

“What do you do?” Steve asked, breaking Bucky back to the moment. “When you leave all day, I mean. Where do you go?”

Bucky licked his lips. He wouldn't talk about it in the Tower, but maybe here it was okay. Nobody but Steve would hear.

“I look for people,” he started, trying to think about how to explain how spending so long with Hydra meant to him. It wasn’t all torture and missions all the time. It was years, decades of waiting for orders and filling time. “When I was Hydra, I was primarily an assassin. You know that,” he looked to Steve and saw him nod, “but I was with them for almost seventy years. There were relatively few assassinations during that time, and a lot of waiting, or training, or learning. I got to know a lot of people besides the handlers. Techs, medical staff, grunts, other operatives... I always had at least one team on hand as backup, one team for pre-mission prep, one for after-mission cleanup. 

I knew those people for decades. Some were fanatics, sure, but some were just grunts. People recruited from bad situations with nowhere else to go. Some believed the ideals, but didn’t always believe or agree with their execution. When Hydra fell, a lot of them took the chance to disappear, so to say.”

“And you hunt them down.”

“I _find_ them,” Bucky stressed. They were not targets. They were… they were _his_.

“Why?”

“Because I knew them for most of their lives in some cases. Hydra would give me young recruits, sixteen- maybe seventeen-year-olds to train as support. It was always easier if they got exposed to my hormones when they were young still, gave them a chance to build up an immunity. Getting older agents to work with me was difficult, they would often become distracted by how I smelled. If the recruits were good, they would stay on my teams for ten, sometimes fifteen years.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded, “but _why_? What happens when you find one?”

Bucky hesitated. It wasn’t like he had a definite plan. He just… missed some of them, sometimes. The familiarity of people he knew.

“Sometimes nothing. A lot of them died, one way or the other. Sometimes I approach them. Sometimes I use them as a source of information. It’s not such a good thing, to be revealed as ex-Hydra these days.” Bucky shook his head. “It’s still such a trip, to see them with children, or old.”

For a moment, Steve was quiet, the bond humming with emotions, but none strong enough for Bucky to get a sense of what Steve was thinking.

“So,” he finally said, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky cast him a wry look.

“They are still not very nice people. Hydra changed people, whether they wanted it or not. And besides, what would you do if you knew I tracked down ex-Hydra operatives?”

The look Steve gave him was open, yet unreadable. The emotions in the bond hadn’t changed either, and Bucky wasn’t sure he liked that.

“I’d assume I’d have done what I’ll do now: nothing. You didn’t answer my question, though. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not sure,” Bucky turned to face Steve after checking the uniformly grey landscape outside. “You were the farthest thing from Hydra. I didn’t want to mix those two lives together.” 

Steve frowned then, the bond buzzing, before it quieted again. He watched Bucky for several minutes instead of answering, thinking, Bucky imagined.

When he’d resolved whatever was in his head, Steve said, “You know I don’t want to know what you’re doing to manage you… or judge you, don’t you?”

Bucky flexed his hand against the throttle.

“Have you considered I might not like what I turn into when I’m close to my Hydra past?”

“I know you don’t,” Steve said softly. He sighed, then shifted about in his chair to find a more comfortable position. “I’m not going to demand you tell me. I’m just… going to say, I’d like to know. I… like to know you, and that includes what you’re up to, Hydra or otherwise.”

Bucky smiled, briefly, to take the sting out of his next words. He didn't want Steve to think it was an attack, when he answered.

“You didn't want to show me your ugly parts either.”

The frown on Steve’s lips deepend.

“This isn’t a competition, Buck.” Steve looked to him, then reached over and pushed his fingers into Bucky’s metal fist. “It’s not if you don’t, I won’t. We’re in this together, and I’m telling you what I want. You get to tell me what you want. Then we both decide what we’re going to do with that information.” He squeezed, then pushed his hand forward, linking their fingers together. “In this case, you get to choose if you tell me when and why you’re going, or how it ends up. I’d like to know, because it’s you, because it’s your life. But if you want to keep it from me, I understand. You’ve been through a lot.”

“It’s not really,” Bucky murmured. “My life I mean.” He returned the squeeze. “In most cases, it’s a goodbye.”

“And I’d like to hear about it, if you want to tell me.”

Bucky cast him a look, affected by Steve’s offer more than he expected. He wasn’t sure if he would want to show the dark parts of himself, but it meant a lot that Steve wanted to see them nonetheless.

“I will think about it,” he promised. It wasn’t just an idle promise either. He had no qualms about just saying no, but Steve asked to know him, and Bucky was strangely loathe to refuse. “I will.”

Steve smiled at him, sweet and tender, and the bond fluttered with that soft thing that Bucky knew was love.

“Thank you.”

“I do have trouble refusing you, you know?” Bucky said ruefully, “especially when you look at me like that.”

Slowly, Steve grinned, then tugged Bucky’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

“Guess I’ll have to take advantage of that, from time to time.”

“Guess you will,” Bucky murmured, feeling his own heart flutter like the bond. Then he remembered the hot biker dude and frowned. “As long as you take me to whatever debauchery you and that biker James go to, so that I can make it abundantly clear you are taken,” Bucky allowed a bit of a growl enter his voice. That guy was way too familiar with Steve, especially considering Bucky had never seen him before he’d shown up in the Tower.

Steve blinked, then his eyes slowly widened as relief flooded through the bond; and Bucky didn’t understand _that_ at all.

“Hot? You think Jim is _hot_?”

“He’s _Jim_ already?!”

Steve laughed, happiness flooding the bond.

“Oh, pretty, he was always Jim. He never went by James. It’s a weird lack of formality in this century.”

“Does James know you are _taken_?”

Steve grinned at him all the brighter. 

“Jim does, yes.” 

“What are you so happy about?” Bucky groused, thinking of the nice biceps that James had sported during their brief meeting in the Tower foyer.

“Pretty, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

Bucky huffed.

“I know what people are like, and I know some of them like to hunt in forbidden waters.”

“Well,” Steve drawled, but he was still obscenely happy, “Jim knows all about you, and how much I love you, and so do the others. Jim is also bonded, for the record.”

Bucky turned, mood souring again. If _James_ was this hot, how the fuck did the others look? He needed to vet them.

“There’s others?” 

“About nine, all told, but I only really hang out with four. Jim, his mate, Alice and Denis.”

“Four,” Bucky repeated. “Are they old and ugly?”

“Hmm,” Steve pursed his lips, as if he had to think about it, “I guess you’re gonna have to see for yourself.”

“They better not be hot,” Bucky warned.

Steve just grinned again.

“They know I only got eyes for you. You should know that, too.”

“I trust you,” Bucky agreed, nodding a little to confirm his own words. “I don’t trust other people.”

Chuckling, Steve shook his head.

“Well, trust me to not pick people who will put our relationship in jeopardy. Worked too damn hard to keep you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky groused. “then they start plying you with cherry cake and honey cider, and next thing you know you wake up in their bed the next morning.”

Steve snorted, but something sad flitted through the bond with the amusement.

“Pretty, that’s why I said to trust me. They would _never_ , or I’d break their heads in. _But_ ,” he kissed Bucky’s hand again, “meet them and see. I’d like you to, you know. I’d like you to join us when we hang out, if you want to.”

“It's been such a long time since I rode any bikes,” Bucky mused. “I would like to do it again sometime.”

“Really?” Steve perked up. “So you’ll come out some time?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “It’s better to show than tell anyway.”

Steve was smiling as he squeezed Bucky’s hand.

“Just so you know, there’s only one bike, and I’m driving.” 

Bucky couldn’t help himself and barked out a laugh. Yeah, he would go with Steve and show his friends who Steve belonged to. Just as soon as they had gotten rid of Doom.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

Steve looked out the window as Bucky carefully circled a cluster of dark shapes bobbing on the surface of the cold, uneasy sea. They couldn’t come any closer, unsure how good their radar was. Doom had brought a lot of tech through the portal, so they couldn’t rule anything out. Steve had expected one ship; seeing six of them was an unpleasant surprise. The one in the middle was bigger than the rest, but all of them were boxy and heavy, exactly how ships of this era should look. Considering the size of the portal compared with the size of the ships, they had to be acquisitions from this time. Doom would still have equipment they would need to account for, no matter the age of the ships. If any of the vessels had anti- aircraft weaponry they would be shot down. Their plane was good for catching up to Doom, but it was not a Quinjet. They wouldn’t be able to maneuver to avoid live fire.

“How well can this thing move?” Steve asked idly, making sure it wasn’t a viable option.

“Think: elephant in a really big tub of honey.”

“Thought so,” Steve said, trying to assess any pattern in the smaller ships circling the stationary one in the center. “How much fuel do we have?”

“A few hours’,” Bucky said, checking the gage. “What’s the plan?”

Steve took a long breath and tried to focus. His eye kept being drawn from the ships to the water. The Valkyrie hadn’t gone down here, but it hadn’t been that far away. The water here would be just as cold, just as frigid, just as surrounding and terrifying.

“Can’t land. Can’t let them know we’re here.” The facts were obvious, one Bucky would know. “Leaves us one option.” Bucky groaned and Steve found a small smile. “Yeah, we’re swimming.”

“I barely dried out from our earlier swim.” Bucky shook his head, the salt water having given his hair a well defined curl. He looked damn pretty, tiny ringlets escaping the sloppy ponytail and framing his face. Mournfully, he added, “And in full kit, too.” 

“Got a better option?” Steve waited, but Bucky just pursed his lips. “Didn’t think so. Look, I’m not looking forward to this any more than you are. I died down there once.”

Bucky cast him a quick glance, there and gone. It warmed Steve that Bucky was actually checking on him, since it wasn’t something he ever expected from his Omega.

Softly he said, “I’ll be okay with jumping. Not going to go head first, though.”

“I heard that it’s the hardest part of you,” Bucky smirked.

“Normally,” Steve said dryly. “Can you set this thing to fly without us in it?”

“I can set a shallow angle. It will still fall, but it should be far enough away from here that nobody will notice.”

“Perfect.” Steve took a deep breath. “I say we check the big ship first. What about you?”

“It does look like the kind of thing a guy in a cape would like. Do you think he has a throne room in there, too?”

Steve laughed despite himself, surprised by how much he needed it. It relaxed something in his chest, letting his shoulders come down a few inches. 

“We’ll have to look and see. So,” he spread his hands out wide, “how do we get out of this thing? Break it?”

\----

Steve hit the water first. The shock of it travelled from his feet through his shins, feeling as if it would shatter his bones, and finally curled around his knees. The chill took a little longer to feel. He had to grit his teeth against the first flash of memory: the water sweeping into the plane, freezing his soul for far longer than it had his body.

He pushed up, kicking hard to get his head back above the water. The cold breeze whipping over the waves was preferable to the suffocating feeling of water closing over him. He felt, more than heard, the splash as Bucky hit the water close by. When Steve reached the surface, he looked around, trying to orient himself and spot his mate. The moments it took for Bucky’s dark head to appear above the frothy waves were some of the longest of his life.

“I fucking hate jumping!” Bucky shouted moments after his head broke the water. He turned to Steve and promptly got hit in the face by a wave. After he spit out the seawater, he swam closer, grousing all the time, “Do you have any idea how much I weigh?”

Steve didn’t respond, since talking in waves was a recipe for a mouthful of briney water. Grinning, he turned and set off for the main ship. The color of their uniforms helped with camouflage, but what helped the most were the waves. As high as they rose, Steve and Bucky were less likely to be spotted, but it made the going all the harder. The swim was long and against the current, because that was just their luck. Their enhancements kept any threat of hypothermia at bay, but that was the only upside. It wasn’t good to be a small, fragile human among huge ships. The biggest threat was the waves crushing them against the hulls, or dragging them behind a propeller. Those were twice as tall as Steve, and that was on the smaller vessels.

By the time they reached the hull of their target, Steve was feeling a burn in his muscles. He was tired and achy. His head was still pulsed with a headache that wouldn’t quit, as it was the bones of his skull literally mending together. At least he could see, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. Not with Bucky so close. He loved his mate with his entire being, but the Omega would be far more concerned with Steve than ensuring Doom didn’t get his hands on the Tesseract.

Steve was slammed against the hull twice before he reached the anchor chain vanishing into the murky water. It was their best chance of getting on board. They did not have climbing equipment, and breaking holes into the hull was a terrible, terrible plan that would sink the boat and announce their presence.

Beside him, Bucky yelled curses or complaints at Steve every so often, followed by the sounds of sputtering salt water. Bucky’s obvious displeasure and irritability lifted Steve’s mood. It was such a familiar thing; something to focus on besides how it had felt to freeze to death in the Valkyrie.

Steve climbed the chain as fast as his cold fingers let him, aware of Bucky following suit. His metal fingers were an asset in this situation. It was hard to judge if there were any guards close to where they had to scale the last part of the hull to get on board. The wind and waves created steady background noise that hid them, but also made it impossible to hear footsteps. At the top, Steve peeked above the railing and thanked whoever was watching out for them that there wasn’t a guard in sight. 

With one last heave, Steve pulled himself over the railing, then turned and reached down, grasping Bucky’s hand and helping him up and over. Salt encrusted the tiny curls that had escaped his ponytail and his lips were slightly blue from the cold. He looked as grumpy as ever, and Steve smiled at the familiar sight. Bucky noticed and rolled his eyes, even as they moved in tandem to flatten their backs against the nearest wall.

“So now where to?” Bucky whispered loudly in order to be heard above the noise of the sea, and yet not around the corner.

“We see how he’s planning to retrieve the cube off the ocean floor and hijack it.”

“Then I guess we need to find a way down.” 

Bucky pointed at their feet and Steve nodded. Neither of them was looking in one place, or at the other. They were looking for Doom’s men, guards they’d have to put down to keep from getting caught. The harsh wind whipping at his wet clothes was even worse than the icy water had been before. Steve had to focus on looking for any signs of guards to keep the cold at bay.

“Fore or stern?”

“Is that like ‘flip a coin’?”

Chuckling, Steve said, “Stern then.”

As silent as cats, they set off toward the back of the ship. They finally did see some men, or guards, but they were busy moving here and there, and easy to hide from. The ship was packed with supplies, huge crates barely secured to the deck. It gave them plenty of nooks and crannies in which to hide from prying eyes, as well as made clear that Doom wasn't overly concerned with security of the deck. He was obviously confident that no one was looking for him, as he’d thought he’d annihilated both Bucky and Steve on the airfield. He had left them bleeding and in no condition to chase after him. Steve’s aching head was testament to just how dangerous Doom was. If it were anybody else, Steve would have suggested that they lay off, to heal up before chasing down a guy they couldn't hope to beat in a one-on-one confrontation.

Then again, Steve wasn’t planning on this to be a fair fight. Not this time.

They watched a man slip through a hatch from the cover of a huge exhaust pipe, and Steve caught sight of stairs in the dim lighting beyond the door. He gestured to Bucky, who nodded, and they slipped down the damp deck to delicately pry the door open again. Footsteps came from the man heading down and down, and they quietly joined him. 

“Top to bottom, or the other way around?” Bucky asked, pressing in close to Steve. His lips barely moved. “Since we don’t know how many guards there are and where we’re headed, it’s going to suck either way.”

“Let’s make it bottom up; they have to be getting to the ocean floor somehow and we didn’t see anything up top.” Steve was not ready to speculate that they’d picked the wrong ship. Not yet. “Find us the quickest route down and make our way up more carefully.”

“You think he might hide his treasures at the bottom of the chest?”

“You are the only magpie here.” Steve huffed. “Though Doom does like to collect artifacts…”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, like, ‘See?’ and Steve rolled his eyes. By luck or happenstance, the stairs they were on disappeared into the very bowels of the ship. Each floor they passed hummed with people on the other side of the bulkhead door - footsteps and voices clanging around the steel hull - but no one was headed down. The sailor they had followed disappeared into a hall full of humming, in addition to the sounds they could hear through the doors.

It was odd, and the hair on the back of Steve’s neck was starting to stand up. No one coming or going suggested everyone had a job. And if everyone had a job, they were either going to encounter a flood of people at their destination - Doom included - or they were too late.

Steve didn’t let himself think they were too late. He didn’t let himself think of Schmit, screaming as a portal of stars and blackness opened behind him. He didn’t let himself think of the weapons Hydra had made using the Tesseract’s power. He didn’t let himself think of Bucky at his back, carrying their child.

When their feet hit the last rung, Steve paused.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, frowning. “I don’t hear anything either.”

“We’re not too late,” Steve said, but it would take a fool not to know he was trying to convince himself.

Signalling for Bucky to go left, Steve eased the door open and they swept into the hall. Though they were ready to attack, it was as they’d feared: there was no one in sight. They could see everything, too. Behind the door lay the entire bottom of the ship, from end to end, without anything blocking their view. Thick wreaths of cables slithered over the walls and ceiling of the cavernous room, running to and from bulky, punch-card computers. Shadowy shapes on the far wall resolved into pressure valves painted in bright yellow.

The smell hit him the hardest. Sea water, kelp, and the musty scent of dampness. He could taste moisture on his tongue. Steve frowned. The insides of ships did not usually smell so harshly of water, and was it oil? This scent... Steve would have expected to find it on a dock, not inside a ship. 

It all made sense when he saw the tiny, one person U-boat moored to the inside of the ship. This space was a dock, a point from which Doom could launch the small submarine.

Steve moved closer to investigate the U-boat. The tower rose a good ten feet in the air and looked ready to be shipped off at any second.

“It looks like they unloaded something here, not too long ago.”

Bucky was on the other side, looking at puddles of water on the floor. His fingers were pressed to fresh scratches on the metal. Steve looked at him, and then at the emptiness and lack of guards, and had to admit that his worst fears were coming true.

“He already found the Tesseract.” 

Slowly, Bucky nodded.

“I think so.”

Closing his eyes, Steve took a breath through his nose, and nodded. 

“Okay. Let’s go find where he put it and steal it back.”

“It’s a big ship, Steve,” Bucky said carefully. “There are loads of people on it.”

Steve nodded.

“So we grab two, bring them here, take whatever they’re wearing and hide the bodies. Too many people is just a good way to blend in as none.”

Bucky smiled at him, sharp and feral.

“I like the way you think.”

\----

Steve should have felt guilty at knocking out an extremely young guy, but couldn't find it in himself. Those people might be young, might even be innocent of any crime other than being hired by a wrong guy, but it didn't change the fact they were actively helping in destroying the world. Bucky, of course, didn’t feel much of anything except happy he was dry again. Bucky’s endless practicality was almost cheerful, as Steve was getting to know. And to think he used to worry that working with Bucky would be difficult.

Reluctantly, Steve had left his shield with the bodies in the pressurized dock. He couldn’t carry it around with him, not when they were trying to blend in. Well, succeeding to, actually. It was ridiculously easy to be overlooked as they passed through several floors of the ship. First a slew of cabins, each with four bunks, took up the entire floor above the dock. They were a third full - the crew clearly slept in shifts - and, if Steve had done his math right, meant there were nearly 250 people, besides Doom, on this one vessel. 

When and how had Doom amassed such a huge number of lackeys?

Adding that to the things Steve wasn’t thinking about, they’d made their way through the mess, and then stumbled upon the real purpose of the ship. Doom was making robots. The humming they’d heard was of machinery, an entire assembly line, crafting robots that looked just like Doom himself. The only difference was a missing panel in the middle of the chest, a black hole that was clearly waiting for something to be inserted there. Either they were to be powered by the Tesseract, or armed by it, but Steve didn’t like the sound of that either way. The only upside was that they weren’t on yet.

Yet.

“So… this is creepy.”

Steve smiled, glanced at Bucky, and kept moving. It was creepy, and all the more reason to stop Doom now. That robot army would easily take over the world, or drive it to nuclear genocide of the entire planet. Either way, Steve couldn’t let Doom put his plan into action.

On the other side of the assembly line, they found another set of halls similar to the cabins below. The difference was these were labs of some kind. Tony would have known - or been completely distracted - by what they were used for, but Steve kept moving. They had one purpose. One goal.

Doom.

One level beneath the deck itself, they finally found him. A sailor exited a room and Steve caught sight of a blue glow just before the door shut. At first Steve thought they would pass by like they had the few people they had already encountered. He kept his head down, trying to look tired and harried. It seemed to work. The man passed them, and then his steps faltered before stopping altogether. 

The next thing Steve heard was a gurgled, choked sound. When he looked back, Bucky had his hand around the man’s mouth and nose, bearing him to the ground before breaking his neck with a quick twist. The crack of bone was comparatively quiet in the corridor, but Steve still turned to make sure nobody had heard them. Both he and Bucky stilled, barely daring to move as they waited to see if somebody had heard the small noises. 

Once it became clear that they had managed to stay unnoticed, Bucky hoisted the dead body onto his shoulders. They needed to find a place to stash it. They couldn’t afford to be discovered before locating the cube. Heading to the nearest door, Steve pushed it open slowly, and when no one called out, slipped inside. To his surprised pleasure, it was filled with boxes and supplies - food and water, from the labels.

Gesturing to Bucky, he held the door open. It wasn’t perfect - a supply closet would have plenty of visitors - but it would be enough to get them in and out. Inside, boxes shuffled and moved, something thumped, then more boxes were pushed around. Bucky finally came out, looking irritated, and Steve kissed his cheek without thought.

“Good job,” he said, and had the pleasure of watching Bucky look flustered as well as irritated.

“Did you see…?” Bucky started, and Steve let him have the distraction.

“The glow? Yeah.” Steve nodded toward the door in question. “How do we get it open without being noticed? I’m thinking no one’s supposed to be up here.”

Steve felt the jolt of smugness before he saw the smirk stretch Bucky’s lips.

“What?” he asked warily.

Bucky opened his shirt and pulled out two items. One looked almost like a smartphone, and the other was a metallic ball made from small, uneven segments. He gave the flat device to Steve and palmed the ball.

Before he could explain what either was for, they both hear approaching footsteps. It was Steve who reached for the supply closet, but they both tumbled in, shoulders brushing to squeeze into the small space already crammed to bursting with supplies and one dead body. Steve had to step over a leg to keep himself from tripping; Bucky wasn’t too gentle as he pushed Steve deeper inside so he could close the door.

They both held their breaths as the footsteps approached, then passed them. Steve exhaled and then jerked as Bucky opened the door and slipped out. Steve couldn't yell at him, so he focused on projecting as much, “Bucky no!” as he could through the bond. 

The Omega didn’t even glance back.

Steve stumbled to the door, grabbing it and preparing to burst out at the sound of a scuffle. There wasn’t one. There was just quiet. Just one set of footsteps, for two people, and Steve couldn’t help but peek around the edge. The man they’d heard was a scientist of some kind with a white coat and clipboard in his hand. What Steve did not expect was to see was Bucky walking a pace behind him, his body strangely relaxed. The bond was so calm it was as if Bucky wasn’t feeling anything at all. He merely shadowed the scientist, relaxed and quiet. He didn't flinch or tense when the man stopped, he just stopped with him and waited as the man pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Bucky stood there, in the guy’s blind spot, and waited until the scientist stuffed the handkerchief away and resumed walking. 

Steve’s heart was trying to beat through his ribs when they finally reached the door and the scientist opened it. As soon as the man took a step through, letting go of the handle, Bucky burst into motion. The arm that had been hanging limply at his side curled and threw a small, shiny object into the room, even as Bucky took a big step that hid him behind the slowly closing door. 

Waiting, holding his breath, the door closed without a peep or a cry. Steve had a clear view of Bucky on the other end of the corridor and glared. Quietly, he made a come hither gesture with his finger. Bucky, the bastard, only grinned as he silently jogged back to Steve.

It had been skillful and impressive, so Steve just kissed his mate _hard_ , letting his teeth nip Bucky’s lower lip. When Bucky just chuckled, Steve growled. The amusement didn’t leave the bond, but Bucky tilted his head back, flashing his throat, and Steve relaxed. God, he’d been so damned worried…

Bucky pulled the flat device from Steve’s hands and Steve started, having forgotten he was holding it. With a finger press, Bucky turned it on, swiping the screen, before he turned it around and showed Steve. It was a slightly jerky image of the room the scientist had passed through. The angle kept shifting, as if whatever it was attached to was moving, albeit slowly. The vantage point was less than perfect, clearly from the ground, but showed a huge, square room. Possibly half the ship’s width, tapestries actually hung from the walls like in an ancient castle. The scientist stood at the foot of a dais, upon which sat an actual _throne_.

Then Steve’s heart stopped beating. Sitting on the throne was Doom, in all his metal glory. That wasn’t what caused Steve to fill with despair. It was the blue, glowing cube in the palm of his hand.

\----

Bucky didn’t like the expression on Steve’s face as he stared at the small screen of his mobile camera. He liked the sour, acrid emotion coming from Steve even less. He didn’t want to let Steve think whatever he was thinking, a sense of panic slowly building up in his stomach.

“We try long range assault,” Bucky blurted, not thinking too hard about his plan. “The guy has to have a weak spot.” He kept talking; the feelings coming from Steve were only growing darker. All of Bucky’s instincts were screaming at him, telling him that something very bad was going to happen. “The ship isn't big, but we’re both fast, we can keep out of his range long enough-” 

“We can’t take him, Buck,” Steve interrupted. “Especially now he has the cube.”

“He is not invincible,” Bucky growled, trying not to show how much his side was bothering him. The ribs weren't broken, but they were definitely bruised. “He’s a living, breathing, human being - he has a weakness. Somewhere.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have time to find it. You know we don’t.”

Bucky didn’t like the look on Steve’s face. 

“What’s your suggestion, then?”

When Steve took a breath before answering, Bucky knew he really wasn’t going to like the answer.

“We blow the ship. We blow all of it.”

Cold dread settled into Bucky’s stomach.

“You think he won’t notice an explosion?” Steve licked his lips and Bucky felt his stomach swoop, churning with disquiet. Quickly he said, “The cube, it discharges energy, like an explosion, when someone touches it. It’s powerful enough to disintegrate anything in its path. It wouldn't matter if he notices. We can both get in there, get our hands on it, and -”

“Bucky,” Steve’s eyes went soft and he grabbed Bucky’s wrist, pulling him in, “that’ll kill us. We both don’t have to die.” A red glove settled over Bucky’s belly. “I’m going to keep him here. Down here. Where it won’t matter if he notices an explosion or not, and you’re going to blow this thing and get the hell out of here.”

“We are in the middle of the Arctic,” Bucky said, not willing to believe his ears, or that _this_ was Steve’s plan. “If you survive the explosion, you won’t be able to survive the water.”

Steve smiled sadly.

“That’s the point, pretty. We can’t beat him. We have to stop him. Considering how… metallic he seems, I bet he’s not a swimmer.” The hand on Bucky’s stomach pressed a little harder. “Please, pretty. It has to be me. You know it has to be me.”

Bucky stared at Steve, feeling his lungs slowly constrict.

“I just got you back.” 

It wasn’t fair. Bucky was forced to deal with the stranger Steve had become after his memory loss, then survive his mad attempt at curing himself. Now, less than a day later he was expected to what, watch his mate die? Not only watch it, he was supposed to facilitate it? Blow up this ship, pull the trigger with his own hands.

Pain twisted Steve’s face.

“I know,” he whispered, “and I…” his words faltered, died, and he just said again, “I know.”

“You can’t.” Bucky felt the bitter taste of desperation on his tongue and threw out the one argument Steve couldn’t refute, “You _can’t_. We are bonded. You die and you’ll pull me right along with you.”

“No,” Steve’s whisper was harsh, like his throat was tightening, “You can break it. I know you can.” His voice grew stronger, eyes flashing in the dim ship lights. “You break it and you get out of here, Buck.”

Bucky was shaking his head, refusing to hear, or even consider Steve’s words. If Steve died, the shock of feeling it through the bond would kill him. No one had survived it, not even with temporary bonds, as his handlers had liked to remind him. Breaking the bond would be the only way he, or the baby, survived Steve’s death. But Bucky wouldn’t do it. He’d worked too damn hard to get this, to have what he’d chosen, what Steve gave him. A home and a place to belong. And now Steve wanted to take it all away, and Bucky felt betrayed. Steve had no right, not after… not after Bucky had let him in so deep.

“We can both run. Just leave Doom here and run. We can hide somewhere, nobody needs to know we’re alive.”

“Would you want our child to live in a world controlled by Doom?” Steve’s eyes were somehow soft, yet unrelenting. “Would you risk leaving that kind of enemy alive at your back? You are so vulnerable,” Reaching out, Steve took Bucky’s face in his hands and pulled their foreheads together, “we are, but I can keep you safe. I can keep you both safe. Please, pretty. You know we have to stop him. Let me do this for us.” Steve’s lashes clumped together with tears that did not fall. “Please.”

Bucky’s throat hurt, deep inside, as if there was a constriction he couldn't swallow past. 

“I’ve only ever broken the half-assed bonds of the Hydra handlers,” Bucky said through a throat filled with glass. “And I _hated_ them.”

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever known.” Steve tilted Bucky’s face down, kissing his forehead. “You can do this. And if you need a reason to hate me,” Steve swallowed hard, “hate me because I’m leaving you. Because I’m asking you to do this.” He laughed, choked and desperate. “And we both know there’s enough anger inside you to eclipse anything else, if you just let it.”

Bucky closed his eyes, leaning hard against Steve, bringing their foreheads together again. Every bit of him raged at this idea, at the very thought of letting Steve die. Most of all, he hated that Steve was right. He could escape. He could escape with their child. 

“I don’t want to be alone again,” he whispered, flesh hand clenching in Steve’s uniform, where it wasn’t yet ripped. His eyes were burning so he kept them tightly closed to fight off the tears that threatened to fall.

“You won’t be,” Steve said quickly, almost eagerly. “You’ll have the team. You’ll have our baby. You have Michael. You have a family now.”

“None of them would be you,” Bucky choked on the last word, wanting to say Steve’s name but unable to. “I fell in love with you, not just once, but twice. I won’t… I can’t… _I hate this!_ ” He jerked back from Steve and then reversed the movement immediately, unable to decide when he might be touching Steve for the last time. “I hate this so much.”

“I love you, too,” Steve said, kissing Bucky on the forehead again and stepping back. “Don’t stop hating it, pretty. Hate it with everything you got.”

And Bucky did.

He let the ever present anger raise up, let the rage that never subsided come to the forefront of his mind. He let it fill all the parts of him, overflowing until it pushed out what Steve had filled; until the good that his mate brought, all the love Steve felt for him, was eclipsed by the bitter hatred he had cultivated for so many decades. It hurt. Like swallowing glass, it ripped him up inside, tearing at him until what was whole became a sour, weeping wound. The pain fed the rage, the injustice of a world that did this to him over and over again. Cold agony ripped at his very soul, roaring in his ears and overshadowing the warm voice of the bond between them. 

Some distant part of him was aware of Steve gasping in pain. It hurt to touch Steve and he jerked back, tripped, and fell on his ass. It was hard to breathe, his lungs constricting and pushing out whatever air he managed to gasp in. The feeling of being alone in his mind again, thick walls separating him from the world hurt so much more than it ever had when he’d done this to block out his handlers. The bond was supposed to be a comfort, a place of safety, the one thing nobody could touch, the only thing that was his forever. 

It wasn’t that now. It festered, pulsed, and hurt like a jagged cut that wouldn’t heal, and like an animal in a trap, the pain fed the anger. Whatever was left of their connection was swallowed up by it, dampened and destroyed, stomped flat by an avalanche he could no longer control.

Slowly, he became aware Steve was kneeling by him, pushing his hair out of his face, and babbling, “I love you. I love you so much. You’re so strong, pretty, you’re so strong. You can do this; all of it. I love you.” 

And then he was pulling away, heading toward the stairs that would take him to Doom. Bucky couldn’t feel him, didn’t know where he was going once he’d left Bucky’s sight. The bond was gone and the touch had hurt. It had hurt where the bond tried to take hold again, but the process Bucky had started stomped the reaction down. 

Bucky rolled away from Steve’s footsteps, heard the sound of a door opening. He was shaking and wrapped his arms around his stomach while closing his eyes. Part of him knew he had to get up, blow the ship, make Steve’s sacrifice worth something. The rest of him never wanted to move again.

Sneering, Bucky shoved himself up on his hands, then to his knees. 

That impulse, to shut down, give up, was the weakness Hydra had abused for decades. He wasn’t weak, not any more. He had a mission, a job to do, and Steve was counting on him to see it through. Steve’s entire plan revolved around how strong Steve thought he was. Even as the hate and bile rose in him, he knew he couldn’t let Steve down.

The trip to the boiler room was a bit of a blur. Bucky _ached_ like he’d never known before. The pain wasn’t even a physical thing, something he could ignore. The remnants of the bond flayed him from the inside, cut at his heart and lungs so that he was panting as he took out the guards and engineers in the room. The hated otherness, the Alpha smell of the place, had Bucky baring his teeth as his rage flared. They lay at his feet, though he didn’t remember putting them down. Blood coated both his hands, and the bodies were mangled more than was strictly necessary.

The room blurred and Bucky wiped blood from his eyes. Above him something crashed, and Bucky swallowed down another scream. Steve was fighting Doom. No, Doom would be knocking him around with his weird strength and speed, and ability to predict their moves. He’d be laughing. While he beat Steve to a pulp, he’d be laughing.

“Laugh at this,” Bucky growled. 

It wasn’t difficult to raise the pressure in the boiler room. Boilers from this era were finicky things, thus why there was a room full of goons to tend to it. A twist here, a lever pull there, extra coal on the fire, and the gages started pushing into the red. With no one to release that pressure, they’d go up and take everything with it.

Steve.

Closing his eyes, Bucky grit his teeth and turned his back on the wheel that would release the pressure. Breaking the bond didn't mean he didn't love Steve anymore. It only meant that now he hated himself, was disgusted by wanting an Alpha to touch him. It meant that he was at war with his body again.

Bucky’s feet turned and took him, step by step, back the way they’d come. The pressurized hole in the center of the ship, with it’s miniature U-boat, was as empty and silent as when he’d come through here with Steve. Steve, who was fighting Doom above his head. Who was going to die. Soon.

Eyes blurring again, Bucky wiped at them, but they came away merely wet. Not blood this time, but tears. Tears that he failed to fight as he forced open the submarine’s hatch, dropped into its belly, and started undocking from the ship. 

The ship he was about to blow up with his mate on board.

The technology seemed clunky and unintuitive, but still familiar. Old skills came back, not easily, but reliably. The design wasn’t exactly like Hydra’s, but close enough for him to operate. Part of him hated how easily it went, how quickly the small boat dropped into the water. The engine kicked in smoothly, and even though he couldn't see much, he could feel the forward movement. He pointed the nose down, to gain as much distance from the oncoming explosion as he could.

He wouldn’t know it when Steve died. He wouldn't be with him in his final minutes. Steve would die alone, in horrific pain from the broken bond and being treated like an old, unwanted ragdoll at Doom’s hands.

All Bucky could feel was the yawning, black anger. There was no comfort, no forgiveness, nothing but the restless drive to make others feel as much pain as he felt. Doom would die. He would be blasted to bits and if, somehow, he survived that, he’d drown. Frozen and unable to breathe, trapped in a steal tomb.

With Steve.

Bucky screamed. He screamed until he couldn’t. Then the explosion came. He didn't hear it, but he felt the shockwave rock his tiny ship. It turned him sideways as the wave rocked him like flotsam on the sea. 

They’d done it. Doom was dead. The Tesseract lost once more.

So was Steve.

This time, nobody would go looking for either of them. 

Swallowing the blackness, Bucky pointed the ship toward land. Toward the portal that would take him back to his time, to the Tower, to Steve’s pack. Toward the last target. The man that had sent Bucky to that bar; Bucky was going to track him down and kill him. Slowly. Painfully. 

Part of him knew the guy wasn’t a real target. He wasn’t the one responsible for what had happened, but he needed something to focus on. He needed a goal, to know there would be something to feed to his anger. The thought of going back to the Tower that smelled like Steve, sitting aimlessly and hopeless in a place that was Steve’s, among Steve’s pack, would drive him insane. So he thought about the contacts he could call as he made his way across the sea. He thought about finding a portrait artist and making a sketch of the guy that had wanted Tony dead, as the engines churned and vibrated the boat. He needed it, needed a purpose, otherwise he would shatter before ever reaching the portal.

When he surfaced, he found the sun hadn’t risen. Had it really taken so little time, their trip? Had losing Steve taken less than a day? Had everything changed so completely, so entirely, in such a small amount of time? Bucky could hardly believe it. But it had. It had all changed. Now there was nothing left to Bucky but his revenge. Revenge he cultivated, plotted, and schemed as he headed for the abandoned castle Doom had used as a staging point. He didn’t care if Natasha, or anybody else, wanted to have the guy brought up on charges. He didn't care about justice. He wanted his revenge. He wanted the blood of his enemies to soothe his pain. He wanted to know the name of the guy Doom had used to manipulate them so Bucky could hound him, terrorize him, and kill him at his leisure. He wanted to strip away whatever power he had amassed and cut him to pieces. He wanted to revisit the pain he had caused, all at once - preferably with the liberal use of bladed weapons.

Those thoughts got Bucky back to the castle and through the glowing blue portal, already smaller than the one they had gone through. The trip had been as unpleasant as the first, if not more so. It felt like being stretched in multiple directions at once while some other force tried to twist his stomach inside out. He staggered through, heaving and fighting off a splitting headache. All his myriad aches and pains had combined into an overwhelming sense of misery. 

Bucky stumbled and fell to his knees. There were no enemies to fight here. There was nothing to fight but his own agony. He let himself fall, his palms hitting the cold concrete as he panted and waited to see if his stomach would finally decide to eject its contents or not. His head was so low, the ends of his hair trailed in the dirt. He couldn’t care less about it. 

It was hard to care about anything besides that he had survived and Steve hadn’t.


	23. Chapter 23

“Bucky!” Clint called as his feet scuffed the marble floors of the renovated castle sixty years from the moment he’d left. “Jesus! You look like seven kinds of shit!”

An arm slid around his shoulders and someone took his weight. The soothing scent of Beta pheromones told Bucky it was Clint, so he didn’t try to stab him the way his instincts said he should. It was Clint, so he let the Beta pull him to his feet and guide him to a chair.

“Where’s Steve?” Tony asked. Natasha must have gestured, because he said, “No, we don’t have time - the portal is closing. Where is Steve?”

“Gone.” It was all Bucky could say. “He’s gone.”

The words were met with silence. A quiet so deep Bucky could hear the sounds of machinery buzzing, the portal slushing, and Tony’s suit joints creaking. Then the pheromones were pouring off Clint, filling Bucky’s head, until there was nothing. The anger, grief, pain - everything - faded to a dull emptiness.

The sound of falling sand and a loud pop preceded the vanishing of the glowing, purple portal. The stones had crumbled. Then there were hands on him, small ones, metal ones, along with Clint’s. Hands that pulled him to his feet, held him up, led him out of the castle. Bucky let them guide him, lead him onto the jet. He let Steve’s pack do his thinking, let them decide what came next. None of it mattered, not any more.

Part of him was aware of Natasha asking questions, but he didn't feel like answering. He just sat where they put him, leaned close to Clint’s numbing scent, and floated in the endless thoughts the lack of emotion left behind. 

Now he knew he shouldn't have broken the bond. He didn’t care to do all this alone. Briefly, he even managed to be angry at the maybe-thing growing inside him. It had forced him to live. He had fought for so long, cut out pieces of himself in the name of survival, of staying alive one more day. And what for? To have the taste of peace dangled in his face just to lose it moments later? 

How long had he even been with Steve? Between the insanity of the Three Sisters, the drama of talking Steve into fucking him again, and then the bonding… They had been together for maybe... What? Six weeks? Less? And then everything had gone to shit again. And now here he was, growing inside of him a life that was made _for_ Steve. 

Someone dabbed a cloth on his face and Bucky blinked himself back to the present. Clint was at his side, arm around his shoulders, but the hand holding the handkerchief belonged to Tony. Tony, who for once didn’t speak, just dabbed Bucky’s other cheek and handed him a bottle of water.

Bucky closed his eyes, taking the drink though he didn’t have any. Not alone, Steve had promised. He was so wrong, so completely wrong, but part of it was right. Others suffered with him. Others who were spending their grief trying to comfort him. And they didn’t even know about the baby.

“What do you think happened?” someone - Clint - asked. “Do you think we won?”

“We lost.” Natasha’s voice was cold and harsh. “Whatever happened, we lost.”

“But,” Clint’s voice was desperate, the arm around Bucky tightening, “how is Bucky here and Steve… How…? I mean…” 

“I hate to bring this up, but what about the cube?” Tony was still standing before Bucky, his feet spread wide, his legs taking up most of Bucky’s vision. “Bucky?” A pause. “No, he’s still not with us.”

“But Steve -” Clint began.

“Whatever happened,” Tony said softly, “it was bad. Look at him. Look at him and tell me he didn’t try to bring Steve back.”

Bucky flinched.

He hadn’t. He hadn’t tried to bring Steve back. He was the one that killed him.

“Bucky?” Clint asked. “Hey, you okay?”

“He made me go.” Bucky said, making himself look up at Tony. The other Omega Steve could have loved. Maybe if he had, he would still be alive. “We couldn’t… we couldn’t beat him. So he… told me to blow the ship. And I did. And he kept Doom… He kept Doom there to…”

Clint sucked in a breath; Natasha hissed. The Iron Man armor buzzed as Tony knelt, awkwardly in his bulky suit.

“We need to get you to medical,” Tony said with an edge to his voice Bucky couldn’t place. “I have no idea how you managed to survive the break, but we need you under the care of the best specialist I can buy, A.S.A.P.” 

Bucky watched, still feeling floaty, as Tony pulled up the communications on the Quinjet. The suit was obviously doing its job of helping him move despite his injury, but his face was grey. By Bucky’s reckoning, Tony needed the hospital more than him. His injuries were minor. And the thing inside him? If it had survived the roundtrip through the portal and being tossed around by Doom, he doubted a few bruises would even make a difference.

“He made me shut it down.” Bucky stared at Tony, waiting for something, anything, he recognized. “Before he -- He made me… and I did. I did everything he fucking,” Bucky’s voice cracked on the swear, “asked me to, and I’m here and he’s…” 

He choked off the curses that wanted to spill from his lips, the numbness pushed away by the rage that was swelling up inside him like bile.

“Bucky,” Tony said, turning back to him.

“You need the doctor,” Bucky said, louder, overpowering whatever Tony meant to say. “I need… _You_ need the doctor.”

“Michael?” Bucky heard Natasha say. “I need you to meet us at the landing pad. It’s… Steve’s gone. Bucky…”

“Okay, Bucky,” Clint said, his voice gentle, the pheromones spiking about him, “We’ll get you home.”

Bucky didn't fight the calming effect, preferring the floaty numbness to the ugly rage and pain he’d felt. Even now, bile burned in his throat and he couldn’t dislodge it, no matter how hard he tried. 

Natasha didn’t say more, so Michael must have agreed to meet them. Bucky didn’t care; the pheromones made sure of that. Her feet made no sound as she walked to them, sat on his other side, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Bucky,” she said softly, “you gotta see a doctor. Hear me out,” she said, though he hadn’t argued, “I didn’t say anything about going through that portal, and Steve didn’t either, but we don’t know what happened to you. To…” the baby, she didn’t say. “Let’s have Bruce look at you, okay?”

“The baby is fine,” Bucky told her. “It’s sucking off my energy like a goddamn siphon. Nothing changed.”

“The what?” Clint and Tony said at once, with one voice. 

Natasha ignored them.

“Tomorrow, then. I’ll bring Bruce to you. I’ll _personally_ oversee any tests that are run. We’ll make sure you’re both healthy.”

Before Bucky could respond, tell her no, even when it was what Steve wanted, Tony said, “Or I’ll find you a jet and a house no one knows about, nowhere anyone is, and you can disappear. If you want.”

“Tony, he needs to see a doctor,” Natasha argued.

“He needs to be with family,” Clint said angrily.

Bucky stared at Tony, and Tony stared back with dark eyes. He looked like shit to be honest, with dark circles under his eyes, a bluish tint to his lips, and overall grey pallor, indicating pain and exhaustion. The hole in his chest might have been cauterised, but it’d torn out enough of his flesh that the police department had flesh samples they could match to Tony’s profile. He wasn't enhanced, didn't heal at a rate he or Steve could. Had done. 

Fuck. 

Bucky didn't break eye contact, realising, believing for the first time, that Tony meant it. That Tony would deprive them of their last connection to Steve, his legacy, because he could tell that Bucky could barely bear to think of going back to a place that smelled like Seve, like his mate that he’d had to kill with his own hands. 

The offer was genuine. Between JARVIS and Tony’s technology, and the sheer resources Bucky had no doubt he could do it, it could happen. Tony could pay off enough people, hack enough databases, to make Bucky a Johnny Nobody somewhere far away.

“Say the word, Bucky,” Tony said. “Whatever you decide, I’ll make it happen.”

Bucky nodded. Not accepting the offer yet, but acknowledging the enormity of the gift Tony was offering. His throat felt tight again, eyes burning with exhaustion or maybe something more. 

Tony nodded back, eyes as serious, as old as Bucky’s. Crow feets gathered around the edges, reminding Bucky that Tony had gone through some shit in his life too. This expression wasn’t what he routinely displayed to the world.

“Not yet,” Bucky said hoarsely. “Tomorrow… I’ll need a sketch artist.” Bucky swallowed. “And I’ll see Bruce.”

The arms around his shoulders squeezed in what Bucky could only call a hug. Of course, that meant Natasha was pulling away a moment later, clearing her throat. It made Bucky think that maybe she was doing this because she cared about him.

“Michael is waiting for you -”

“No,” Bucky said quickly. “I need… I need to be alone right now. For tonight. For… He’s gone and… I need to be alone.” He paused. “I guess Michael is okay, but make sure I don't meet any other Alphas for the next little while.” He thought about the ugly rage pulsing just under the fragile layer of numbness. “If I smell one, I can’t be held responsible for what I do.”

“Course not,” Clint agreed. “We’ll take care of everything.”

Bucky still wasn't sure he trusted them enough that he could stop thinking and believe they would take care of everything, but he was surprisingly willing to let them try. Maybe it was the misery that took the fight from him, or maybe he was starting to like them. Tony’s offer still rattled around in his brain, soothing the frayed edges like no other words could. The thought that he could hole up somewhere, disappear completely, to lick his wounds in solitude was calming in a morbid way.

“Let Clint walk you to your room, at least?” Natasha asked.

Bucky shook his head.

“No… no, I need… The guy. The guy that started this, if you could…”

“Dead.” Natasha promised. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Licking his lips, Bucky managed a strained smile.

“Make it hurt.”

“If we’re good, you won’t need that sketch artist,” Clint said.

“We’ll see, birdbrain,” Bucky said tiredly. Everything hurt. His bruises, his ribs still ached, as did his head. One of his knees was twinging from being twisted during one of the failed kicks Doom had anticipated. Having his ass handed to him before breaking the bond _and_ going through the portal was ramping up to one of the most miserable days in his existence. And he had a lot of shit to compare it to. He wanted to take a shower, maybe scream where nobody could hear it. It was good that the cats were at Michael’s, at least he wouldn’t scare the beasties. He wanted some quiet.

“Coming in for a landing,” Tony called, having taken Natasha’s chair while they promised Bucky vengeance. “I’ll have dinner delivered to your room. And breakfast.”

The Quinjet set down with a bump and Bucky let Clint help him stand. Then he pulled away, nodding to the three of them. To Steve’s pack, who were watching him like nervous hens. They wanted to cluck about him, smother him with their sympathy, and - Bucky paused, looking at them again. The baby wasn’t their last link to Steve, he realized. _He_ was. There would be no safer place for him, or his baby, than here. Far away, as nice as it sounded, would only be far away.

“Tomorrow,” he said, the only thanks he could offer, and turned away. Toward home, the empty apartment Steve would never share with him. It would smell like him, though, and as much as he hated the thought, Bucky needed it. He needed to feel, for just a little while longer, like Steve might walk through the door. Dirty and sweaty and smiling because Bucky was there. Just a little while, just tonight, and then he’d get Tony to move him and the cats to a new apartment. 

The door swung open easily and Bucky took a step inside, not watching where he was going. It was the quiet thump-thump of double sets of cat paws hitting the floor that made him jerk his eyes up. The flat was supposed to be empty.

In front of the couch, getting to his feet, was a man who looked so close to Steve it hurt. His hair was longer and there were other small differences to his face, like he was older. His body was still as big as Bucky expected it to be, the breadth of his shoulders stretching his white cotton shirt and leather jacket. For a heartbeat, Bucky stared, frozen in place, thinking that Steve looked good. 

Then the reality rushed back, made him remember that Steve was dead. Bucky killed him with his own hands, and the world turned red. He reached for the table by the door so fast something twanged in his back. Gripping the edge, he lobbed the whole thing through the room at the goddamn fucking imposter he was going to rip apart with his bare hands. Whatever aches and pains he felt before were gone, pure, unfettered rage obscuring everything else.

The man yelped, dodging the projectile by lunging to the side, but Bucky wasn’t going to let him off easily. He was already in motion, lunging for the table and the handgun he kept under it.

“Bucky, stop!” the imposter shouted. 

Bucky jerked the gun from its hiding place, and didn't even bother taking it out of the holster, just shot through it at the bastard. To Bucky’s further rage, the imposter rolled, then came back up _with Steve’s shield._ A shield that, by all rights, should be at the bottom of the sea with its owner. Not here, not stolen, for this… this _ruse_.

“Bucky, it’s me!” 

“Liar!” Bucky roared.

He shot again, aiming for Steve’s legs, intending to shoot out his kneecaps and then maim the imposter when he had him down. The guy knew how to use the shield, though, curling himself up so tight he was like a turtle. Bucky blinked, then, as the shield seemed to rotate _toward_ him, his brain realizing too late that the bastard had leapt off the ground and was finally fighting back.

He wound back his metal arm, the servos whining as he powered them to the max, and hit the shield with a clang loud enough to make his ears hurt.

“Bucky, Jesus fuck, that _hurt_!” the imposter shouted, and Bucky roared in incoherent rage. 

Bucky wanted to kill him, rip him apart. How dare he? How fucking dare he pretend to be Steve! Lifting his foot, he kicked the imposter’s feet out from under him and then stomped down on his head. Or he would have, if the guy hadn’t rolled, taking the shield with him. They came together hard, Bucky doing his best to kill the son-of-a-bitch. The other guy was… he was… 

Frowning, Bucky danced back. They’d traded blows for nearly a minute, but the guy wasn’t winded, and he hadn’t been trying to hurt Bucky. Stop him, maybe, but he hadn’t taken a single body shot. Not _one_. What’s more, there wasn’t a smear on the carpet either. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Are you done trying to kill me?” the fake snapped, shield at the ready. “Because I’ve been waiting for this moment for sixty years and I cannot fucking believe I never thought you’d try to kill me. I mean, really, I should have thought of that. It’s you.”

Bucky growled, too confused to answer.

“That wasn’t a yes, okay.” The Steve look-a-like lowered the shield a fraction. “Bucky, pretty, it’s _me_. We went back in time to stop Dr. Doom from getting his hands on the Tesseract. You broke our bond, because I asked you to, and you left me because I asked you to, and I’ve been waiting all this time to see you again.”

“How could you have survived the icy waters?” Bucky demanded. Everything the man said was true, but how could he know? No one knew. No one except Tony, Natasha, and Clint.

And Steve.

“Can you believe that Russian poachers fished me out? It was damned lucky.”

“But,” Bucky’s brain spun, his fists lowering as he realized, “if you survived, then Doom -”

“Yeah, he kept me busy for a few years.”

“Then I left you -”

“No,” Steve slashed a hand through the air, the shield now at his hip, “they had an old ship and it took them a while to reach shore. By the time I got back to land, you were gone and the portal was too. Even if there had been a plane, it was too late.”

“I don’t.” Bucky’s hands dropped completely, “But… how?”

Steve set the shield down and slowly approached Bucky, hands outstretched.

“Turns out, you’re not the only one that can’t die from old age. So… I waited, and when I knew Clint was gone, I came home, got our cats, and came _home_. I’ve missed you so much, Bucky…”

Bucky opened his metal fist and closed it again, letting the plates rearrange with a resounding click-clacking sound. It only got so loud if Bucky kept changing his mind about the way he wanted to move it.

“I don’t,” Bucky shook his head, unable to comprehend what he was hearing, what he was seeing. It was Steve, but it wasn’t Steve at the same time. The physical differences could be explained by age, but Steve felt different too. Something in the way he presented himself, the aura he exuded, had changed enough Bucky couldn’t recognize him.

“Okay.” Steve’s voice gentled, his hands still palms out, but he stopped moving toward Bucky. “Okay, that’s fine. I knew you might not believe me, not right away. How do you want to do this? You can test me, pretty. I won’t mind.”

The pet name jarred Bucky. His senses were more than a little confused by what was in front of him. His eyes told him he was facing a stranger, but the words were the worst. He became aware of his aches again, how tired he was. His head hurt, the echo of the broken bond still an open wound. He didn’t even have the time to mourn Steve and now he had him back? Did he though? Or was it a game, a ploy of some kind he didn’t understand?

“Or,” Steve said quickly, “sit down. You’ve had a rough day. I’ll cook you something, we’ll put on one of those movies you like, and I won’t come near you, okay? Please? I,” Steve’s voice cracked and he had to clear it, “I’ve missed you so much, Bucky. Let me stay, for a little while.”

“What is that?” he pointed at Steve’s neck, where a bit of black was visible above the collar of the jacket.

Steve slapped his hand against the mark, like a guilty teenager trying to hide a hickey, and honest to god blushed. Just a little, but enough that Bucky recognized the way the color lightly dusted the top of his cheekbones. Steve never flushed red as a tomato, his skin too pale for it. Instead, he merely pinked up in places, darkest at his neck.

“I got a few tattoos over the years.” Steve shuffled his feet, looking both embarrassed and defiant. “It helped me feel a little closer to you.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Show me.”

He watched as Steve blinked at him, blue eyes wide.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Steve sighed, then shrugged off his jacket, “alright.” 

The shirt came next, with only a moment’s hesitation before he pulled it over his head. He laid the white cotton over the jacket, which had itself been laid over a living room chair. Bucky paid little attention, absorbing the new ink on Steve’s skin. The pattern at his neck was a tail, a tail that curled around his shoulder and onto his back. Bucky motioned for Steve to turn around, and bit his lip to hide a smile at the tattoo on his shoulder. A heart, red and round, with Bucky’s name scrolled across the middle. 

Then Steve was turned around and Bucky’s throat tightened. A cat, curled around a kitten, both black as night, lay across his upper back and shoulders. The artist was talented, capturing an irritated glare from the bigger cat. It was the scroll just beneath, though, that made Bucky start laughing. 

“Buckitty?” Bucky choked. “Steve, you have a _tramp stamp_ with the dumbest nickname _ever_.”

Red blossomed along Steve’s ears and, when he’d turned around, over his chest and neck.

“Yeah, well, I like it.” He looked and sounded adorably petulant.

Before he’d realized he was moving, Bucky flung himself at Steve. Eyes closed tight, he was enfolded in Steve’s arms, pressing his face to his neck and inhaling his scent. A scent he’d never thought he’d smell fresh again. It was familiar enough, yet there was a hint of something different there too. If Steve had lived through sixty years, a lifetime really, it would make sense that even that had changed.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, the word a prayer, as he held Bucky so tight it was hard to breathe. ”My Bucky.”

“I hate you,” Bucky said through a throat wrecked ragged by pain.

“Don’t say that,” Steve begged, his arms holding Bucky even tighter. “Please don’t say that.”

“So _much_.” 

Bucky curled his metal hand into the waistband of Steve’s jeans and pulled him closer, aligning their bodies. Steve seemed bigger this close, harder than before. There was more sinew to his muscles now. They were harder, whittled down to nothing but power instead of the fullness of before. Bucky could read hardship in this body in ways he couldn’t before. That wasn’t even taking the ink into consideration.

“Sixty years is a long time to wait for you to tell me you hate me.”

“I killed you today.” Bucky closed his eyes and pressed his face to Steve’s shoulder so hard it made white sparks under his lids. “I rigged that ship to explode and left you to die in whatever gruesome way you would be left with.”

“And if you hadn’t,” Steve said softly, “I couldn’t have waited for you. This moment, Buck, I’ve waited for this moment for so long. I know it hurt, but it gave us this moment.”

Taking a breath, Bucky leaned back and was surprised when Steve’s arms only gave him a few inches to work with. Still, he licked his lips, and said, “Sixty years is a _long_ time, Steve.”

“Tell me about it,” the Alpha grumbled.

“No,” Bucky took another deep breath, “I mean… It’s a long time to be _alone_.”

“Ah.” Steve smiled, then kissed Bucky’s forehead the same way he had before Bucky had blown him up. “It’s not so bad when you know exactly what you’re waiting for. I had friends, I made myself a bit of a life, and I waited. When it got hard, I got a new tattoo.”

Bucky spread his hand against Steve skin, hot and smooth. Alive.

“I know what it’s like to be alone.” Bucky hated that Steve had had to go through it. Hated that he would have spent a lifetime, wasted a lifetime, waiting.

“No, pretty, it wasn’t like that at all.” Steve kissed him again, this time on his nose. “I promise. Doom kept me busy for a few decades, and then I… Well, I got a job. Peggy got me a job, to be specific.”

“Peggy?” Bucky interrupted, frowning. All he remembered about ‘Peggy’ was that she was compatible with Steve. 

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Margaret Carter, the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Steve prompted.

Bucky couldn't wrap his head around what he felt. On one hand he hated the idea of Steve being alone, suffering and lonely for all those decades, and that he had caused it to happen. On the other, the thought of Steve bonding with another burned a hole in his belly.

“Did you bond with her?”

The smile Steve gave him wasn’t the reaction Bucky expected.

“No.”

Bucky honestly didn't know how to feel about it.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s been a lifetime for me,” Steve said gently. “She wasn’t the one I wanted anymore.”

“But… sixty years, Steve.”

“Yes, for sixty years.” Steve smiled wider, and rubbed a hand along Bucky’s lower back. “I went to her because she knows me, because I could trust her, and she found me the perfect job. You wanna guess what it is?”

“No,” Bucky grumbled, still out of sorts.

“Gamemaker.” Steve beamed with pride. “I’ve come up with all the war games for the Pentagon for the past forty years.”

Bucky laughed, the sound thready and a little choked. His body was going hot and cold. An Alpha so close by was tripping all his fight-or-flight instincts while his body was reacting to his pheromones with an interest he had never fully accepted. If Steve wanted neutral, platonic touching, Bucky wouldn't be able to let him, he was already tensing up, heating up. He could fuck, or he could fight, but he couldn’t just stand here.

“I want you,” he said, “but the lack of the bond is not making it easy.” 

When Steve bit his lip, Bucky made himself focus completely on Steve.

“Bucky,” he said, voice soft and breathy, “we can… have it back. If you want it.”

“I never wanted to break it in the first place!” Bucky burst out before quieting again. “Of course I fucking want it.”

When he spoke, Steve’s voice was a deep, gravelly purr. “Good,” he said, and swept Bucky off his feet. Bucky’s hands tightened against Steve’s shoulders, but he made himself relax, made himself go pliant. There was no fight to be had here; Steve just carried him to the bedroom and tossed him bodily onto their bed.

“I didn’t want to come back,” Bucky murmured, staring up at Steve, at the way the edges of the tattoo curled on his neck.

“I thought you might run,” Steve admitted, yanking off his belt before putting a knee on the bed, “but I was _pretty_ sure you wouldn’t leave the kittens. Thus my kidnapping them.”

Bucky waited until Steve was over him, crawling on all fours up the bed.

“No,” he denied very softly, reaching for Steve, “I thought about pointing the nose of the U-boat down until the water pressure crushed it into non-existence.”

Steve’s hands paused, but then reached for Bucky’s uniform, opening every buckle and every strap. Yanking with quick, darting hands that had more calluses than Bucky remembered. Were they bigger? It seemed like it.

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” Steve said as he worked Bucky’s gear off, “And I’m… I’m here. And you didn’t, and we’re going to make it right again.”

Bucky touched the edge of the tattoo on Steve’s neck and traced it as far as he could from his position.

“This is the last time,” Bucky said just as softly. “I won’t lose you a third time.” 

Raising his other arm, he curled both around Steve’s neck. He could kill Steve like this. One squeeze of his hand and he could crush his spine or his trachea. It would take a fraction of a second. With all his training, Steve had to know it too. 

“I’m not going to promise you that again.” Steve smiled wryly. “I think it’s jinxing us.”

He used his grip to pull Steve closer, until they were face-to-face.

“Then I’m going to make you a promise,” Bucky said. Steve was so close he could feel his breath fanning against his lips. “If a next time happens, I won’t promise to leave. I won’t promise to go on.”

The tac vest finally came free, and Steve threw it on the floor to begin working on Bucky’s belt and pants.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time.” Steve said. “You’ve been strong for so long, through so much. But,” he said as Bucky opened his mouth, “ _thank you_ , for being strong one more time.”

“I don’t hate you,” Bucky whispered, pulling Steve closer again and stretching up to kiss him. The lips under his felt warm and soft and welcoming as they opened. It was long and sweet, like coming home, and then Steve was pulling off his boots and pants and Bucky was naked on the bed, with Steve over him.

“I never hated you,” Bucky said as Steve pulled back, “even when I really wanted to.”

“I love you,” Steve said, the words harsh and fierce, “I love you so goddamn much. Gonna make you mine again. Gonna be yours again. Like we’re s’posed to be.”

Licking his lips, Bucky squirmed as tension flared under his skin. As much as he wanted this, wanted the bond back, he was still fighting the desire to run. To break the bond, he’d had to immerse too much of himself in his past, in the Omega who would rather rip an Alpha apart, piece by piece, than let him near. This was _Steve_ , though, and all Bucky wanted was him close, wanted him inside his head, wanted to be inside Steve’s again.

As soon as Steve had shucked off his pants, Bucky acted. Pushing out from beneath Steve’s caging arms, he kicked out, knocking Steve’s legs from under him so he fell face-first onto the bed. Steve grunted, but merely turned his head, watching Bucky instead of chasing after him, or fighting. Even after sixty years, he knew Bucky well enough not to push, to go with the flow.

God, Bucky loved him.


	24. Chapter 24

Steve didn’t resist as Bucky swung a leg over Steve’s back. The Omega settled down against the swell of his ass and Steve settled as well, spreading out, pillowing his head on his hands. The satisfaction and peace he’d been missing for decades settled in his chest and he closed his eyes, relaxing in the compromising position Bucky had purposely put him in. 

“You look different,” Bucky murmured, his voice softer than what Steve was used to.

“Good different?” Steve asked, curiosity blooming in him. “Or bad different?”

“Harder,” Bucky said, reaching down to spread his metal fingers between Steve’s shoulder blades. “More dangerous.”

Steve smiled at the compliment.

“So, good, then.” 

Bucky huffed out a tiny laugh, the shudders of it travelling though his body where it pressed against Steve’s. Anyone with eyes could see he had a type. Admittedly, Steve had worried his older self would be as appealing, but his slightly different body was hitting Bucky’s buttons.

“God, I’ve missed your laugh.” Steve went limp beneath Bucky, tension draining away like water. “You like your cat self?”

Bucky pressed his flesh hand to Steve’s back, touching his ribs.

“It looks angry,” Bucky hedged.

“So... accurate,” Steve teased.

Another laugh tumbled out of Bucky’s throat, and Steve hummed in pleasure. Bucky laughing was could only be a good sign. He might be on edge, anxious, and spoiling for a fight, but he was trusting Steve, an Alpha. He was relaxed enough they might actually be able to renew the bond. Assuming Bucky could take Steve being over him, or inside him. Though he’d hoped it would happen immediately, Steve was smart enough to know it might not be that easy for his mate, not after all he’d been through.

“Why a cat?” Bucky dragged his hands down to the curve of Steve's back where his spine dipped in. He took hold of the tight muscles and squeezed, kneading them, and Steve groaned in pleasure. 

“Buckitty, of course,” Steve said, voice going soft and languid at the attention. “The first time you ever showed,” Steve hesitated, choosing his words so he didn’t accidently insult his mate and end this moment, “that you didn’t hate me. That we could be friends, even if your presence made me an idiot.”

“Objectively, you weren't so bad.” 

Bucky spread his fingers again and dragged them up Steve’s back, to the wide blades of this shoulders. Steve made a sound that would have been a laugh if he weren’t busy melting into the mattress beneath Bucky’s hands. He couldn’t get enough of Bucky’s hands on his skin.

“I will never understand how your standards can be so _low_ and yet so impossibly _high_.”

Another laugh, and Bucky leaned forward to rest more of his weight against Steve’s back, making his breath rush out of him when he did so, none to gently.

“Like?”

“Really?” Steve laughed, huffing out a breath before settling back onto the bed. “You wanted perfection, at all times. I couldn’t sneeze wrong, but… _objectively_ , I wasn’t bad.”

“Hm,” Bucky squeezed his knees against Steve’s hips. “I didn't want perfection. I just wanted you castrated.”

Steve didn’t laugh, but only because he wasn’t suicidal.

“That is _exactly_ what I’m talking about.”

“But that’s because I _objectively_ liked you. Until then, the only good Alpha was -”

“- a dead Alpha,” Steve finished with a contented smile at the familiar words. “I remember. That is also my point. Standards so, so high. Yet… your bar for perfection was to be treated as an equal. I wasn’t saying I _didn’t_ sneeze wrong.” Steve’s hands slipped from beneath his hands, then curled about Bucky’s knees. He kept the movements slow, in case Bucky wanted to pull away. “You were a hard taskmaster, Mr. Barnes, but I wasn’t perfect. I’m not perfect, and I couldn’t help myself with you. It’s not something…” Steve stopped, peeled an eye open and peered up at his mate. “Are we really going to talk with us both naked and you on my back?”

Bucky ground himself into the firm, round flesh beneath him in reward. 

“Yes,” he confirmed, with apparent relish. 

“Oh, well then,” Steve said playfully. He closed his eyes and settled in once more. Two could play this game.

Bucky sounded impossibly offended. “I also think your ass got even smaller.”

“Is _that_ a good or a bad thing?” Frowning, Steve opened his eye once more and looked up at Bucky. “It sounds bad.”

“It is bad.” Bucky nodded. “It means that in the next few years you will look as if somebody slapped you in the ass with a shovel.”

Dramatically, Steve sighed.

“Sorry, pretty. Guess you’re going to have to put up with my flat ass as my one, true flaw.” 

Bucky pushed himself up, and back, so he was sitting on Steve’s thighs. He put both his hands on Steve’s ass. Steve hummed again. If Bucky could never stop touching him, that would make this the best day of his life. 

“You gonna fuck me, pretty?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” Bucky murmured absently, still palming the cheeks. 

Disappointed, Steve still knew better than to push.

“Ah,” he said, switching back to the previous topic. “Then I think I was explaining how I was an ass and you didn’t deserve to have to deal with my ridiculous attraction just because you were - are - hot and sexy and smell like…” Steve inhaled deeply, and stopped talking. Bucky smelled like _home_ , like everything he’d missed. He could still remember it, clear as day, and now it was _real_. It wasn’t a figment of his imagination or a dream. Bucky was here, his scent covered the bed, and Steve didn’t have to pretend any more.

“You swivel your hips a little when you’re angry.” 

It was hilarious just how nostalgic Bucky had sounded.

“Odd statement, since I’m not angry.”

“You were angry a lot in the Three Sisters,” Bucky explained. “I liked watching what it did to your ass. Very distracting.”

Steve hummed in satisfaction again. The slight fear that Bucky would push him away vanished. His mate was still his, angry and prickly and all.

“I’m out of practice. You’re going to have to train me up. Be my taskmaster again.” Steve froze, a thought occurring to him that hadn’t for six decades. Twisting, he flipped them both, taking the risk he’d upset Bucky, but needing to see his face for this. “Or, I can keep my job and I won’t go out trying to fight the next big bad. Would you like that, pretty?”

Bucky scowled, which was not what Steve expected.

“Why are you asking me?” he asked warily, shifting under Steve, but Steve kept his hold tight as Bucky tested it. He didn’t think he wanted to get away, but Steve wanted him here; needed to hear an answer.

Leaning away, Steve gave Bucky a searching look even as he held him down.

“Because you’re my mate. Because I want your opinion on how my life affects yours.”

Bucky shrugged with his flesh shoulder.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I have known you as anything other than a soldier.”

“No,” Steve said slowly, trying to puzzle out why Bucky didn’t want to give him an answer, “but you don’t want to lose me again, and I can’t promise you won’t if I go back into this fight. Hell, I can’t promise the fight will come to me, but I have been playing war games for a good forty years.” Steve slid his hands down Bucky’s shoulders. “I always thought I’d pick up the shield again when I came back here, but it occurs to me... I don’t have to. I’d not thought of that before.”

“I don’t want to answer because the guy I took for a mate was a soldier and a fighter. You saying that, or deciding to change, doesn't change anything for me.”

Steve smiled.

“So you’ll take me, however I am?”

“Basically,” Bucky agreed, “but a flat ass might be grounds for divorce.”

Smirking, Steve leaned in for a kiss, murmuring, “Deal,” just before their lips touched. The kiss started soft, sweet, but then Bucky lifted his hips, grinding against Steve’s cock, and everything devolved into filth. Steve thrust his tongue past Bucky’s lips, groaning loudly as his pleasure grew. Taking it as encouragement, Bucky began rolling his hips faster, the friction quickly driving Steve wild. It had been such a long time since he had had this, touch his mate, feel the heat of his body, and take in his heated scent. Bucky was both welcoming and tense under him, his muscles hard as he explored Steve just as eagerly. 

Steve let himself fall into the filthy invitation the eager touch of Bucky’s hands offered. Bucky’s knees wrapped about Steve’s hips, one heel digging into Steve’s calf.

“Too many clothes,” Bucky said breathlessly. 

“You’re one to talk,” Steve said, tugging at Bucky’s shirt.

With a huff, Bucky pushed Steve away hard enough to make Steve fall to the side. Bucky was up and out of bed in a flash, pulling off his clothes as fast as possible. Fifteen seconds hadn’t even elapsed before Bucky kicked off his last boot and was scrambling back on to the bed. Kneeling, he frowned at Steve.

“Why are you still dressed?”

Blinking, Steve laughed and admitted, “Got distracted watching you and forgot.” 

“Always have to do everything myself,” Bucky grumbled as he reached for the belt of Steve's pants, and yanked none too gently. Steve laughed at being manhandled, enjoying the scrape and burn as his pants were jerked down while he kicked off his boots. The sound of triumph Bucky made as he threw them onto the bed riled Steve up further. However, when Bucky turned to remove his underwear with his metal hand, Steve interceded. 

“You are not ripping them off,” he said, shimming the tented underwear off. “I don’t want a rug burn on my dick!”

Bucky chuckled, watching Steve strip down.

“I wouldn’t damage the goods; I have use for them.”

“Damn well better,” Steve said, chucking the fabric aside and pouncing on his mate. It had been far too long - sixty fucking years - and Steve wasn’t about to take this slow and gentle and sweet. Sure, Bucky deserved it, but not this time. Next time. _This_ time he was going to break the damn bed.

“I want you,” Bucky said as he slid his fingers into Steve’s hair, going with Steve’s dominant display seamlessly. There was no resistance. Bucky didn’t try to establish his position, did not try to force Steve to do what he wanted, despite his earlier claim of being on edge. He let Steve arrange him, wrapping his legs around Steve’s hips and pressing their cocks together. His only reaction was soundless laughter and arching his back so their bellies pressed together. Their naked cocks rubbed, trapped between them, and the spark of sensation nearly blinded Steve. 

It had been so damn long. 

Steve gasped, reached for Bucky’s hips and rutted against him just to feel him, to drown in that pleasure that only Bucky could give him. Bucky’s fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough he left marks as he made breathy, encouraging sounds.

“Get inside.” Bucky’s voice was so low and rough it stoked the fire of Steve’s desire. When Bucky moved his flesh hand between them and wrapped them around Seve’s already-leaking cock Steve moaned out loud. “You gonna knot on the first go?”

Moaning again, Steve growled, “If you let go of my dick.”

“I will,” Bucky promised, but his fingers were still squeezing the loose skin from where the knot would grow. 

“You wet for me, pretty?” Steve said, trying to put a growl in his voice, but ending up breathless as Bucky squeezed him again.

Bucky made a sound that was uncannily close to purring. His knee slid long and slow over Steve’s thigh.

“You should check.”

With an invitation like that, how could Steve refuse? Dropping the hand holding Bucky’s left thigh, He left Bucky to hold himself up, and pushed his fingers beneath Bucky’s scorching body. It had been a long, long time, but his hands knew the path, behind Bucky’s balls, between his cheeks, to the hot, fluttering hole. A thousand fantasies had burned this feeling into his memory, but the reality was still better. Dripping slick allowed two fingers to push past that pulsing rim. The muscles were soft, giving easily under the pressure, and all Steve could think about was pushing his dick into him.

Bucky clenched his teeth and threw his head back, a low sound escaping him that rippled under Steve’s skin. Stretching up, he put his teeth against the deliciously barred tendons at Bucky’s neck. He bit down, pulling a louder groan from Bucky. More slick poured out of his mate, soaking Steve’s hand and making him gasp as his groin reacted by twisting with need. He bit down harder, his jaw starting to ache, as his Omega pulled at him, scratching his back and shoulders. The earlier welts multiplied, criss-crossing his back and arms, and throbbing along with his dick.

Pulling his dripping fingers out, Steve used his sopping hand around his needy cock. It was all the lube he required before lining himself up and pushing in. He couldn’t help the moan that ripped from his throat as he felt the hot slickness envelop him, smooth muscles clenching down on him. 

His Omega’s reaction looked as powerful as his own. His back arched like a bow, chest pushing into Steve’s and he growled, feeling his Omega pull against his hold. He wouldn’t let go, bit down harder and snarled when his Omega cried out.

“Yes,” his Omega repeated in a breathy voice. Finally he wasn’t resisting, his hands pulling Steve closer, his legs holding Steve in a vice-like grip. “Yes, yesyesyes.” 

With his Omega’s willingness, Steve pulled out and slammed back into the offered body, pushing the breath right out of him. Steve didn’t relent, didn’t wait for his mate to recover, but slammed back in, slammed _home_ , again and again. He needed to force his knot, lock them together, ensure his Omega couldn’t escape. He needed to ensure his Omega would be _his_.

Beneath him, Bucky moved with him, meeting his thrusts so powerfully the bed was jerking and jiggling as Steve thrust and his Omega pushed back. Between them, Bucky’s cock twitched and pressed against his stomach, smearing sharp-smelling precome all over Steve’s belly. Marking him as he marked his mate, leaving his scent so anyone and everyone would know that this Omega was his.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re hot when you’re gone like this,”

Steve vibrated with pleasure. His Omega thought he was hot. His Omega _wanted_ him. Growling in approval, Steve shifted to gain more leverage and pounded into his Omega, relishing the squelch every time he bottomed out. His balls slapped against his Omega, coming away slippery as Bucky was leaking everywhere. Friction burns from the sheets would make his knees ache later and his shoulders stung where his Omega had scratched him, but Steve didn’t care. The slight pain only heightened his pleasure, holding him in his body as vigorously as he held onto his Omega’s throat. There was blood on his tongue, but his Omega only moaned, shuddery and sweet. 

With an explosion of white hot, almost-pain, Steve’s knot exploded. His balls emptied at the same moment, and the multitude of sensation pushed the world away. There was pain in his cock, his jaw, and yet blinding pleasure as he came, over and over. It was the satisfaction that Steve was floating on when the world came back. He hadn’t let go of his Omega’s throat, he’d marked him, _claimed_ him, and pumped him full of his seed. That seed would stay there, held inside by Steve’s knot, ensuring it was _his_ come that would breed the sweet, soft Omega beneath him.

Vaguely, Steve realized he hadn’t stopped pumping his hips, though the thrusts were more a desperate grinding as his knot had filled his Omega’s tight hole to bursting. Each tiny movement drew a whimpering, “Oh, oh, oh,” from his partner that was too delicious to stop. His mate had come, through, a fact Steve knew only by the sharp scent of Bucky’s release from where it was now smeared between their bellies. 

Slowly, he gained more awareness. The contractions around his knot were hard enough he could feel it through the numbness left after popping his knot. Bucky was coming, _still_ coming, and trembling as it continued over and over. Fumbling a hand between them, he wrapped it around Bucky’s spluttering cock, and Bucky jerked as if electrocuted while simultaneously bearing down so hard on Steve’s cock, pleasure returned. Grinding and groaning, the cock in his hand dribbling, and Steve stared as Bucky shouted, reaching behind himself to grip the headboard. The metal hand dented the solid steel frame and Bucky _kept_ shouting, he kept _coming_. 

Steve had never seen anything like it. He didn’t want it to stop. With purpose now, Steve swiveled his hips and kept up the continual pleasure that was driving his mate so wild. On and on it went, and showed no sign of stopping. His Omega’s cock twitched and spurted, spilling fluid that became increasingly clearer the longer it went on. He was flushed, lips swollen and wet, eyes half-closed and wet strands of hair clinging to his sweaty forehead and neck. 

It likely would have gone on for hours, until Steve’s brain realized this Omega wasn’t his yet. Not completely. He’d marked him and fucked him, knotted him and come inside him, but the claiming hadn’t been reciprocated. 

They hadn’t _mated_. 

Snarling, Steve pushed his hips flush with his Omega’s ass and grabbed a fistful of long, soft brown hair. Another cry left his mate, but startled this time, as Steve pulled him up with that hold, pushed his face against Steve’s throat, and growled again. At first, his mate whimpered, limp in his arms, until Steve growled a third time. Then his mate stirred, mumbled incoherently, and sunk his teeth into Steve’s throat.

As his eyes rolled back in his head, Steve revelled in the pain, and the flood of _connection_ stretching between them. Yet it wasn’t right, it was tight and thready, twisted and shoved back on itself. His mate… His mate was _scared_.

And Steve knew why.

“Don’t be afraid, pretty,” Steve whispered against his Omega’s ear. “I won't ask you to break it again.”

He felt, more than heard, his mate’s shuddery exhale, and the metal arm wrapped around his back. The bond flared open like like sunrise over a desert, blooming and spreading between them. From the dusk, a blinding light emerged, engulfing his very soul so that he was filled with his mate’s existence. There was love and longing, joy, and of course, anger smoldering under it all. Steve felt his eyes sting as the depth of the emotions swamped him without filters. His mate wasn’t hiding this time; was showing Steve every emotion that swirled inside his troubled soul.

It was the pain that brought Steve out of the moment, though he never wanted it to end. The pause was brief, but his knot would not be ignored. It began to ache, throbbing and needing friction and pressure. He had the latter - his Omega’s tightness - but not the former. Even as his Omega’s teeth left his skin, he thrust as far as the knot would allow. Part of him wanted to give his mate a break, but he couldn’t yet. It hurt too much to stop. 

Releasing Bucky’s hair, Steve pulled his Omega’s hips higher and set to work. It felt incredible, his eyes rolling back in his head because his mate had taken his whole knot. Slick and spread open, _locked_ to him, Bucky was perfect. The pressure, the wetness, and the way he squeezed drove the pain away, left Steve engulfed in pleasure. His Omega’s body worked with him, easy as putty, his for the taking, for the claiming - for _always_.

“Enough...” Bucky squirmed under him, and Steve’s brain righted itself, surfacing from the amazing sensations. His mate’s body was no longer working with him, but against him. “I can’t...”

Growling, Steve gripped Bucky’s knees and yanked them up, up to his shoulders, and stopped taking it slow. Bucky shouted, arms flailing out to the sides, and arched as the pleasure became more than he could handle. It was brief, though, as Steve had purpose. He came again, shuddering and gasping, but was aware enough to _stop_ , pushing inside his mate and holding still, pumping him full of come.

Sweat dripped from Steve’s brow as he finished. He was breathing hard, and knew his mate needed a long break after this. He wasn’t in heat, couldn’t get into the same state as Steve, and so Steve would have to be careful with him. Gentle, even if it wasn’t what his body wanted.

“Slow,” Steve mumbled, and followed through by easing Bucky’s legs off his shoulders and onto his left side. It took some doing, and help from Bucky, but he slid up behind his mate, wrapping him in his arms, and tucking his face against the mark he’d made a second time upon Bucky’s throat.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Bucky said. “You’re… still… and I’m not…”

Steve kissed Bucky’s cheek, then nuzzled at the mating mark.

“I’ll be careful with you,” he promised, whispering since his lips were so near Bucky’s ear, “but it won’t go down for a few hours.”

“Hours?” Bucky groaned, his voice breaking on the word.

“Maybe more,” Steve admitted. 

Bucky ground his head into the pillow and groaned again.

“You big, damn, overachiever.”

“Missed you, pretty.” Steve kissed Bucky’s temple. “Missed you so damn much. But I’ll be gentle; I’ll be so sweet to you, you’ll see. Gonna make you feel so good.”

The flush that spread over Bucky’s cheek was beautiful.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, as the bond flared with embarrassed happiness. 

Steve did as he was told, but the surge of joy couldn’t be ignored through the bond. His mate was _happy_ , satisfied, and wanted him. Wanted him to continue. He couldn’t hide it, not when Steve could feel how much Bucky _liked_ Steve wanting him. 

“I love you.”

Bucky huffed, turned his head and kissed Steve. It was short and chaste, but Steve heard what Bucky had such a hard time saying, ‘ _I love you, too_.’

The End.


	25. Epilogue

The nurse handed Steve a clean, swaddled bundle as Bucky looked on from the bed. It was the exhaustion, Bucky decided, that set him laughing when the nurse scurried away from the growl Steve issued the second she had laid the baby in his arms. In her defense, it wasn't a nice growl. It was a warning. One Steve had been issuing for days when anyone came near Bucky. Apparently the baby had broken Steve’s brain, too.

Bucky grimaced as Steve turned from the closing door to his private infirmary room and headed toward him. Then he saw the smitten look on his mate’s face and made an effort to pay attention to the bond. There had been a lot of joy drowning everything out, with occasional flashes of rage, but under the happiness was the soft, fluffiness of Steve’s love. Toward someone else. And… Bucky was surprised to find he didn't mind.

He _did_ mind when Steve moved him, one handed, and crawled into the bed at Bucky’s side. He wasn't done healing yet and it made him ache. Steve being wrapped around him and purring like a motor boat was the only thing that saved his mate from asharp, metal embow. It _was_ kind of nice.

“I think we should name him George,” Steve whispered.

“Sure,” Bucky said, leaning his head against Steve’s shoulder. As nice as the private room was, it still smelled like a hospital or a lab, and Bucky felt disturbed by the chemicals he could detect in the air. He inhaled, trying to drown it out with Steve’s scent.

Steve nuzzled his nose into Bucky’s hair as he pointed out, “It was your father’s name.” 

God, Bucky must have been really out of it not to make that connection on his own. He grimaced again and shook his head, pulling briefly away from Steve’s touch.

“Your dad...”

Steve’s emotions immediately swirled with anger and hate at the mention of his father, and Bucky knew there would be a refusal before Steve even shook his head.

“If you don't like it...” Steve began.

“George is fine.” And it was. Bucky didn't feel anything for the name at all, and Steve probably had five hundred reasons to choose it. Bucky didn't need to hear them to know it would make his mate happy if he said yes.

Sure enough, Steve beamed, for all of a second before the door opened and Tony sauntered through, laden down with several gift baskets.

“Show me my godson!” he demanded, completely ignoring the loud snarl Steve had let out upon his entry, and the low, warning growl he was emitting now. Bucky watched him approach and was again taken by surprise by how much he didn’t mind. Tony had turned out to be an unexpected friend in the recent months. Ever since Bucky had had to jump into that helicopter, they had developed an understanding. They never talked about it, but Bucky found himself not only liking Tony, but also trusting him. That moment when he thought Steve was dead, and Tony had offered to make Bucky disappear was one he held close to his heart. To offer Bucky the one thing he cherished above all else - the ability to _choose_ \- was proof of how much Tony understood and cared.

Behind Tony, Bucky saw the rest of Steve’s pack peek around the door frame, and waved them in. He let Steve growl until he looked like he might move and do something dumb like throw their friends out, and then elbowed his mate in the armpit. The growl devolved into a yip, and Steve’s big, blond head swung his way.

“Play nice,” Bucky ordered, but was too tired to pull away from Steve’s warmth. He tried to settle back against his side, smiling as Steve snuffled at his hair as if checking to make sure he was okay.

The Avengers chuckled, looking on expectantly, as if they thought Steve had enough brain operating off Alpha instincts to make introductions. Bucky was grateful they clustered at the foot of the bed, but on Steve’s side so that his faced an empty room. He liked that they gave him space, gave him a clear route of egress. He still hurt, felt uncommonly weak, and it was playing havoc with his usual paranoia. 

It was Natasha who finally stepped forward, smiling at Steve, and asked, “Can I see?”

Steve sniffed in her direction and Bucky imagined his hackles rising in distrust. When Bucky chuckled at the image, Steve focused on him, eyes wide, before turning again to Natasha.

After clearing his throat, Steve said, “His name is George.”

Slowly walking forward, she peered into the blankets and smiled. 

“He’s very… tiny.”

“Very,” Bucky agreed, which was why Steve was holding him. He was still somewhat confused about that. The baby had felt damn huge in those last weeks, but seeing him now, barely bigger than both of Steve’s palms, did not fit what his mind categorised as a weight substantial enough to severely affect his mobility.

Natasha stepped back and Tony rushed forward, ignoring another rumble of displeasure from Steve. Bucky had to wonder if Tony had a faulty fear response, or was just that oblivious, or if he actually trusted Steve to overcome the hormones Bruce had explained would be demanding he protect them.

“It’s… wrinkly,“ Tony said, sounding surprised. “And smells like... “

“Careful,” Bucky murmured, “You finish that thought and I'll sick Steve on you.”

For the first time, Tony contemplated Steve’s presence seriously. Then he backed up and Bucky smiled. It was well known by now that the last month of the trimester had addled Steve to such an extent he would rip apart anything that so much as startled Bucky. As had been the fate of their curtains after Bucky had woken up from a nightmare and mistaken them for Karpov. Steve had shown up _after_ Bucky had calmed down, but the curtains hadn't been salvageable. Bucky vaguely wondered what Steve would have done to the real deal.

“I call first dibs on holding him,” Clint said, coming up next.

“When Steve lets him go?” Bucky chuckled and then winced as his various aches let themselves be known. His spine especially. First it had rearranged itself for the baby and now it was arranging itself back. Perversely, his healing factor was making the process more painful as it happened faster. “Sure.”

Bruce, Michael, and Pepper didn’t step forward. The latter two because an Alpha’s scent was likely to overcome the control Steve had managed to maintain, and the former because he was as self-sacrificing as Steve.

“I've seen him,” Bruce said when Clint waived him forward. That fact was the only reason Bucky had been able to go through this. For every moment samples from him or the baby were taken out of his sight for tests, Bruce had been there. He’d told Bucky of his own experiments, how he knew exactly why no one could get their hands on his, Steve’s, or their baby’s DNA, and Bucky had believed him. The softness he was showing he blamed on Steve. 

“And we don't need to aggravate Steve if we don't have to,” Bruce added.

“I brought gifts!” Tony said.

“We saw,” Bucky said at the same time Pepper said, “They know.”

Steve, for the first time all day, laughed.

Bucky looked up at him in time to find Steve placing the baby in his arms. Eyes widening, he hesitated, but Steve didn't. He laid the baby in Bucky’s arms, then swung his own arm around them both. Bucky was so focused on making sure he didn't hurt the delicate human that he didn't notice Steve wrapping about them both like an octopus until he was done. Flushing, Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but realized he could hardly see the pack as Steve’s chest blocked them from sight. 

Then the big oaf started up that purr again and Michael said, “That’s our cue. I'll come see you later, Bucky. And I’ll bring food.”

“Later, ceiling menace.”

“Let me know when you’re feeling up to sparring, James.”

“I'm going to double-check the lab.”

“We’re never having kids.”

“Okay, Tony. Whatever you want.”

Bucky smiled, listened to them go, realized he had relaxed in Steve’s cocoon. The baby, George, wrapped a hand around his metal finger and Bucky looked down. He was small and delicate, holding on to his digit even when Bucky wiggled it experimentally.

“Not too bright, are you?” Bucky said, his voice soft and tender in a way that alarmed him enough he cleared his throat. “I could break you with that pinky you're holding.”

George gurgled what seemed to be a laugh - maybe - and Steve’s purring reached a new crescendo. Bucky sighed, closing his eyes and letting his mate’s warmth soothe him toward sleep. He trusted Steve would make sure nothing happened to their baby. He trusted the Avengers would handle any trouble until he was back on his feet. It was new, odd, and even a little uncomfortable to be placing his faith in so many other people, but it was something he’d question later. For now, he listened to his mate purr, his baby’s heartbeat, and let the exhaustion take over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We want to thank our amazing and glorious beta, [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile), one more time for all her hard work. This fic couldn't exist without you <333

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit us on Tumblr
> 
> [xantissa](http://xantissa.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Michael's painting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427502) by [cobaltmoony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltmoony/pseuds/cobaltmoony)




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